


Peach

by whatalatte



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bottom Peter Parker, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Domestic Avengers, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Peter Parker, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Fixation, Parent Tony Stark, Praise Kink, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Kink, Subspace, Top Bucky Barnes, Villain Quentin Beck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 86,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatalatte/pseuds/whatalatte
Summary: “Man don’t worry,” Sam offered, genuine resolve in his voice, “colouring books are still hot.”Bucky tilted his beer, “Oh yeah?”“Absolutely.” The flying Vet was proud of himself, rejoicing in how Steve was visibly burning beneath his skin. “Minimum effort, just stick him in front of the tv, box of crayons, you got yourself a peaceful night.”“-Enough.”Bucky, despite his jovial exchange, held no sign of joy on his face. It wasn’t an easy task to get the man to smile, most of the few who knew him resigned long ago at small talk when met with those eyes. Eyes, that held your stare until the electricity in them felt like acid stripping you to the bone. Patience wasn’t his forté, trivial chit chat for the sake of comfort wasn’t part of his nature and neither were 5’8, 18 year old boys from Queens.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Comments: 218
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tony has never forgiven/overcome the events of his Parents' death and the ground between him and Bucky is severely fragile. Not enemies, not exactly friends. Peter is fearful of the Soldier and his alter ego, even more so after an event that happened in New York where said alter ego surfaced. Things change drastically and it turns out they may have to learn to work together and things don't exactly run smoothly for poor Peter. Canon but Peter is 18. Thanos never happened. Set two/three years after Homecoming. 
> 
> Bit of a slow burner I reckon? WARNINGS will be posted at the beginning of each chapter therefore kindly heed them as I'm not apologetic for anything that happens. Enjoy!

Prior to this day, hearing the gravel crunch beneath the tyres of whatever bulletproof, enhanced, stupid-expensive, blacked out vehicle he were in, had brought on mixed emotions. The first time he visited it was excitement; hearing about the extensive engineering behind the design through a curt but fond source of Happy, had him eager to set eyes on the prestigious build. Seeing it, that first time, didn’t let his expectations fall below par. All he remembers is staring wide-eyed at the endless white exterior, fingertips poised on the glass window as Happy slowly pulled through security and up the winding road to the entrance. Non-official entrance, as he was promptly informed. All other personnel who were meeting on ‘Avengers business,’ had to pull up front. 

Second time he was here had him not so excited, more nervous. Despite being somewhat part of, involved, _associated with_ , the most elite task force in the world, Peter always felt out of place. Mr. Stark was always reluctant to allow him to be too cozy with any inside business, nothing that would render him a direct target of anyone or anything. After the Vulture incident— regardless of him proving his worth, Peter had been under a somewhat higher protection protocol. He’d imprinted on the world, now. Tony had been in it too long to be ignorant to how it worked and knew there was little chance of Mr Vulture man having no connections. Which is why Peter was excited but nerve ridden, stepping foot inside the compound second time around. Mr Stark had messaged him personally, not through Happy, to arrange an appointment for midday, Friday, that week. 

_“Mr Stark I would love— thing is I have an appointment already?”_

_“More important than this?”_

_“Well, it’s uh, health… related.”_

_“Kid if you’re telling me you have a dentist appointment, I may explode.”_

_“You can’t take oral hygiene for granted Mr St—,”_

_“I’ll see you Friday, squirt.”_

Sure enough, his Dental Surgery called not half an hour later to inform him his check-up had been rescheduled. And, sporting a three day long blush, Peter was horrified at how easy he was to read to the man. Mr. Stark, always had a way of knowing what, how, who and why before he could finish curling his tongue around an explanation. The appointment at the Avenger’s compound was only to talk about a new security watch Mr Stark was infiltrating into Peter’s daily life, seeing as he’d refused to make the move to the compound with everyone else, but still. Just once, he wanted to be able to slip under the radar. Now with somewhat 24/7 surveillance on him, that pipe dream was truly lodged. 

Third time, was for his eighteenth birthday. The same day, he was finally coerced (although Natasha and Sam will stand to convince alcohol and bribery had absolutely nothing to do with it) into moving out of his home in Queens and upstate, with the rest of them. Mr. Stark was always a vision of quiet whips, sarcasm and intellect rolled into one, grossly otherwise composed man. But when the news filtered through the individuals in the room, finally reaching the genius tucked away with Mr. Rogers over a bottle of champagne, there was a visible line of tension that was pulled from his shoulders as he embraced the boy. Sporadic applause faded, but the patting of the elder’s hand on his back seemed to last a little longer, coming down in almost slow motion and Peter could’ve sworn he saw tears sparkling in his eyes when the man finally pulled back, eyes crinkled softly with a tight smile despite the alcohol undoubtedly loosening his joints. 

“ _Thanks Pete_.”

No one really heard it, but Peter would never forget it. 

He always heard it as something different. His Father is dead, his Uncle is dead, all male influence had been grouped and wiped from his existence but Mr Stark was right there before him. Mr Stark, the genus billionaire turned unexpected mentor, was right there. A comedic come ironic culmination of both his Father and Uncle Ben and whether it was forever going to go unspoken, they both knew their bond. They knew.

Now moving day was here and the welcome wagon had been rolled out just— well. Just like Peter didn’t expect. Not from Mr Stark at least, but that wasn’t the face he was met with when pulling his suitcase behind him. The glass doors opened to a very chipper looking Miss Pepper Potts. Her usual slicked back hair was bouncing around in a pony, the tops of her cheeks tinted an odd colour of pink. She looked like she wanted to say something but rather, didn’t and chose to instead clasp her hands in front of her chin as though resting on them, with eyes crinkled, full of silent adore for the boy trudging up before her. 

His stomach had been doing flips since he pulled up. Normal nerves were expected, excitement, apprehension, all very normal. But his skin felt like it was shifting. There was something in the air, something that kept making him look over his shoulder as though he were forgetting something or rather, about to walk into something very, very unpleasant.

“Hey Missus Po— _holy-_ ,” Narrowly avoiding swallowing his tongue, Peter’s jaw slammed shut as a body twice his size collided with his own, suitcase flying as the stranger enveloped him in an embrace that would’ve probably knocked his spine out of place if he weren’t spideyfied. 

“Bruce, alright I think,” She didn’t seem to care that Peter’s face was turning red from the arm suffocating his neck, sighing softly as she stepped forward, “Bruce.”

“Man, it’s so good to see you kid.” Bruce— Mr Banner, dropped his arm but not his distance, “Kid,” He repeated, the smile never leaving his face, “You don’t understand how much easier you’ve made my life.” No sense of that personal space seems to lodge its way into Mr Banner’s mind either as he clapped a hand back on his shoulder, “Now you’re here, do you realise how much pressure has been taken off my back to keep your surveillance up?” He shook his head, a weird sort of laugh as he looked between Miss Potts and Peter again, “Kid.”

Was he high? Peter, always too polite, didn’t question this weirdly intrusive side to the scientist. “I uh, that’s…”

“The amount of stress you’ve taken off Tony’s head, do you even realise?”

“Bruce, you’re overwhelming the kid.”

Being 18 around aged 30 plus adults rendered him _kid_ permanently, apparently. Peter resisted a pout and cleared his throat to insist he wasn’t but Mr Banner continued.

“No, no, no he gets it. Don’t you kid?” Another hand clapped his chest. Peter barely opened his mouth before— “He gets it. Any stress taken away from the boss, is stress taken away from me. You know?” Peter had never noticed how thick Mr Banner’s accent was until this moment, his Eastern, New York twang heavy on so many words. “ _Halved_.”

“Yes Sir I—,”

“Sir?” 

All three of them turned to see where that new, albeit smokey and familiar voice belonged to. Miss Romanoff looked as though she’d been listening nonchalantly this entire time, leant against the glass partition, arms crossed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. More casual than what looked normal on her. She smiled, winking at Peter who couldn’t help but grin back. “There’s no Sirs, around here Parker.”

He always felt oddly at ease when Miss Romanoff was around, any tension across his shoulders slipping away as she pushed forward to bring him into a tight hug. Something banged in the distance and Peter turned to it, trying to focus his eyes on the three men that’d just entered the lobby from the far side. 

Too far away.

“Bruce,” Mr B— Bruce, clarified, “call me Bruce.” He was already picking up his bags from a flustered looking Happy who’d suddenly stepped in from behind them and Peter’s heart sunk. 

“Happy! Oh my gosh I’m sorry I got caught up, I didn’t mean to just,” He looked at the three bags he’d hauled in, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, here let me—,”

“It’s alright.” Miss Romanaff interjected, voice never raising above that gravelly pitch, “We got it.” 

Happy, forever a walking irony to his name, looked as though he wanted to say something to the boy looking at him with a desperate apology in his eyes, was quickly averted to the buzzing in his pocket. Saved by the bell. Peter’s brows raised, a hopeful smile on his lips as the man sighed and stepped away to take the business elsewhere. 

“Don’t mind Grumps,” That smokey voice interrupted Peter, who’d been following Happy’s line of stride, “three out of five deliveries are delayed and Stark’s giving him a rough ear.” 

She was already taking off with one of his suitcases, a backpack over her shoulder and Peter _flapped_.

“—Miss Roman—,”

“Oh,” She shot him a furious look over her shoulder, platinum blonde hair momentarily lightning white in the sun, “nada, nope. Pete there will be none of that either, no _Miss_ this or _Mister_ that.” Peter was caught between adopting a jog and trying to grapple with the bags Bruce was already taking care of in her wake, “Nat.” 

Alas, it was fruitless. Bruce was bustling away with his belongings in no time, as if this whole thing had been staged for him to walk into and be taken care of and all he could do was watch. He’d barely said three words, felt and looked like a nervous wreck and just stood there fish mouthing at the two of them, trailing off so far into the vast lobby her velveteen voice echoed through, calling back to Bruce as what Peter was sure sounded an awful lot like, ‘baby.’

Well. That was new.

“Come on,” Peter’d forgotten Miss Potts—Mrs Stark, Pepper, was still there, “Tony’s waiting for you.”

He had no idea why he nearly jumped out of his skin at her voice, why he was so jittery and on edge. His reactions were heightened, nerves acute to any sensory input which was sending his mind into a stupor because he had no reason to be alert. This only happened when he needed to be stimulated, some sort of physical threat close enough to set off that sixth sense of his, so it left him stumped, his brain falling over logical loopholes as to why it was kicking in now when he had literally zero reason to be alarmed. He must’ve started walking anyway or hallucinating at least because either way, the ground was shifting beneath his feet and Miss Potts was talking to him but it sounded an awful lot like he was underwater.

He pleaded that there hadn’t been a question in there somewhere, instead trying for a genuine smile, not quite sure if it came off as such or more like he were suppressing vomit. She digressed, elevator doors closing before them as Peter caught a last minute glance of those men again near the east entrance.

“You alright Pete?”

Jury’s still out. “Yeah, definitely, Missus— Stark. Pepper.” Good start, “Potts.” 

Peter wanted the elevator to crash. He wanted to fall through space and time and never come back up, why couldn’t he just get a grip?

Thankfully, Pepper seemed to be endeared by Peter’s stuttering and cocked her head a little, eyes always so kind as she surveyed his steadily pinking cheeks, “Did Happy give you a hard run on the ride up here?” She sighed, adjusting the lapel to her shirt, “I know he can be a little stringent at times but, his heart is big. His heart is right. Just, really doesn’t want to fuck up because Tony turns into a toddler when told no.”

Peter didn’t know what shocked him more, the fact she’s openly taunting her husband in front of his mentee or her curse word. Although he hadn’t answered, she gave him one final side glance with that warm smile to suit right before F.R.I.D.A.Y announced the arrival at the ‘Master’s Lab.’ 

The mechanism was satisfyingly smooth, doors opening without a sound to reveal the extensive space before them. 

“Master?” Peter frowned privately as he ran curious fingers across one of the metal tabletops. 

“Ugh, don’t.” Pepper retorted, the eye roll _audible_ , “There comes a certain point with an IQ where it's impossible to taint an ego.” 

Peter, however, was mildly embarrassed he’d said it out loud. Swallowing against his humiliation as it seemed to be taken in good grace, “I expect nothing less, honestly.”

There was that smile again, her nose crinkling, right before she cleared her throat to the back of the man hunched over a bench covered in what can only be described as a violent, robotic, autopsy. She tried again, rocking forward on her heels as her irritation grew. Tony should be expecting him so why he was so caught up in whatever that was, was beyond her. Deciding enough was enough, she grabbed what looked like a bolt, twirled it between her fingers for a moment before launching it at the back of his head.

“ _Shit what the—_ ,”

The blunt sound it made bouncing back off humoured the boy who tried to keep the giggle from busting through his lips. That, was probably the most at ease he’d felt since he’d stepped foot in the compound. 

*

  
“Fuck off.”

Steve sighed, soft eyes turning sharp as they surveyed the man beside him. Sam on the other hand, couldn’t be more amused at the reaction and tossed them both a beer, turning back to open his own with a knowing smile. “Yep. That was him today with all the bags.”

They’d gathered at their favourite spot downtown, after hours as always. Having friends outside of the field came in use and Sam having the key to this bar proved it. 

“Fuck off, no.” The man only repeated himself, disbelief plastered across his usually stoic features. 

Sam was even more amused, “Yep,” Repeated himself too, now with an opened bottle of beer. He raised it with a handsome smile on his face at his fellow company’s very clear, disgruntlement. “Cheers.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bucky. Watch your—,” Steve finally snapped, caught off guard when his beer was briefly stolen, cap popped off by the aid of a metal limb and returned wordlessly, “Thanks. Thank you.”

Barnes threw back half the bottle with one swig, the item looking oddly small in his hand. Both sets of eyes were on him. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it, not like he could, but it was no secret among friends that the Soldier was no fan of the new addition to the team. A team, that he wasn’t officially a part of, but by association to Captain Squeaky Clean, sort of also was. 

“We need to all make a valiant effort to get along, despite pasts or personal preferences or differences and that’s the bottom line.” Steve, thinking that absolutely sealed it, nodded and took a modest sip. 

“By valiant effort you mean do our fair share of baby sitting?” Bucky retorted. 

Somewhere between them, Sam just about stopped himself from spitting out a mouthful of beer. 

Steve, however— “Okay.” Not so amused. “Alright very funny, you know—,”

“No I’m curious, do we all have assigned days? You got Tuesdays, Wanda has Thursday and what, I got Friday fundays?” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, resigned to the fact this wasn’t going to sink in well any time soon. 

“Man don’t worry,” Sam offered, genuine resolve in his voice, “colouring books are still hot.” 

Bucky tilted his beer, “Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.” The flying Vet was proud of himself, rejoicing in how Steve was visibly burning beneath his skin. “Minimum effort, just stick him in front of the tv, box of crayons, you got yourself a peaceful night.”

“ _Enough_.”

Bucky, despite his jovial exchange, held no sign of joy on his face. It wasn’t an easy task to get the man to smile, most of the few who knew him resigned long ago at small talk when met with those eyes. Eyes, that held your stare until the electricity in them felt like acid stripping you to the bone. Patience wasn’t his forté, trivial chit chat for the sake of comfort wasn’t his nature and neither were 5’8, 18 year old boys from Queens.

Cleaning up his beer, he slammed it on the table and shook his head. The condensation on the glass had barely begun to bead from the speed he’d finished it. Steve wondered if his resistance to the toxin was because of the shit Hyrda used to weaponise him or if he had a vibranium liver in there too. 

Said man snapped him out of his thoughts when he turned and cracked his neck, “Boy’s a liability.” 

Sam, shared a look with the other Soldier. Jokes aside, he didn’t dislike actually Peter. Didn’t know him that well, truthfully. First met in Berlin, ran into him a few times, crossed paths on official business but didn’t deem him as any sort of hindrance to Stark or, the Avengers. Being so young and of the flappy, geeky natured he so was he was an unfortunately easy target for the older crew to take shots at and tease, but nothing to the extent of genuine disapproval. Shuffling in his seat, he cleared his throat and levelled out.

“Look,” He knew he had to tread carefully around this, stay loose and amused, “just because he’s a little younger does not mean the kid doesn’t have major potential. You’ve seen what he can do.” Sam gestured to the heavy metal limb resting on the table top, “First hand.”

The pun flew over his head. With no reaction, Sam pushed on.

“He’s an asset—,”

Barnes scoffed, “To who?”

“Man.” Sam laughed, “You’re really hard up on this aren’t you? For real though.”

“Tell me to whom, he is an asset to.” Barnes seemed least interested, slouched, withdrawn. His broad stature almost overfilling the chair he sat in as hooded eyes pinned Sam to the spot. “Toss me some names.”

“Tony wouldn’t throw someone into this world if he didn’t think they were worthy.”

That caught his attention like a vice and Steve knew, stiffening in his own chair, “Bucky.”

The dark haired man however, disregarded the warning in his voice and leant forward, his metal limb making a low thud atop the table. For the first time in a long time, Sam felt like he was on the receiving end of something he didn’t want to be ever again. The man’s voice was low, unwavering.

“Stark’s little doe eyed, puppy dog, prodigy. Stark chose him and we all know he doesn’t always make the right choice.” Sam leant back in his seat feeing oddly trapped. “We also know, I’m not high on his list of favourites but that kid is, and that _kid_ has enough Daddy issues to follow him around with a _yes Sir no Sir_ and a bucket for him to piss in.”

“Bucky, _please—_ ,”

“Puppy dog Parker doesn’t like me at all. Once he learned about my past, little shit had nothing to say to me.” 

“You’re not giving him enough credit you’ve hardly spoke to—,”

“My name is already dirt among his people because of something I can’t control.”

Last Spring, an unfortunate turn of events proved that time wasn’t a measurement of the strength of Bucky’s triggers. All it took, just like Berlin, just like Brazil that following year and just like New York in the Spring of last, were those ten words and he were conditioned. It was a pain he lived in literal, actual fear of enduring at any moment and something no one was able to solve. Stark had labelled him a ticking time bomb when he’d managed to take out half of the Upper East Side for the sake of one target.

The palms of whom holds those words, whoever gets their hold on them, has their hold on the Soldier too and he knew it. Everyone knew it. He and everyone who he got close to would be forever vulnerable and it was Stark’s sole mission, to remind him of that very fact.

“That’s not true, you know that’s your paranoia. They respect you as much as they respect me Buck, it’s just difficult, it’s—,”

“They fear me. That’s not the same as respect.”

Sam looked resigned, powerless.

“Stark needs you. This Peter boy, his opinion comes from what he’s seen,” Steve looked to Sam who was nodding, sensing hope, a turning point, “He knows no better than what Stark has told him.”

“Then he better learn, because I don’t want to have to bust up an infant because he couldn’t hold his attitude.”

Sam was ruffled, “Ay, man you can’t say that shit,”

But Barnes raised his voice, slammed his fist, “I will not tongue tussle my reputation with a fucking child.”

This turned more serious than either men expected, another exchange of glances communicated exactly that. Bucky smirked then, not reaching his eyes. Barely anything did. “There’s enough of a divide, this is weighing out the balance in his favour again.”

“This isn’t a competition man, it’s that kind of mindset that is keeping us apart.”

Silence was dawned when the 6ft something affliction stood and both men flinched. There was a nauseating mix he couldn’t pin swirling in his gut.

“If it came to being on the field with Tony and his puppet, people I should be able to trust with my life,” He weaved around their table, “d’you think they’d save it?”

“Buck,” Rogers was on his feet, body angled to catch the man before he reached the door, “where are you going?” 

There was a pause, pregnant, there always was when it came to parting ways. By his nature, Steve knew Bucky would probably never agree to full time residence at the Compound, he was wild at heart and didn’t like to be pinned down to any one location. A loner. But he had heart and Steve, Sam, of all people knew it which is why it hurt so much that Stark and he couldn’t’ come to a resolution that enabled Bucky to temporarily move in, where he would be safe and protected, surrounded by good people and Steve wouldn’t have to keep checking in on him and lose sleep. 

The man looked peculiarly tall, even with such bad posture as he lingered by the door like that. His voice was a rasp, the bell above ringing as it opened and the cold air whipped inside. 

“Home.”

  
*

  
“I _promise_ you it’s alright today.” Peter’s voice had been steadily rising from normal to whiny, the more Wanda poked around his body. “Stop—,” He swatted her hand from the bit of squish at his hips, “stop that.”

“Pardon her inquisitive nature,” Vision’s voice floated through from the corridor, the man soon joining them in the communal kitchen, “since your arrival a week ago she’s been reading up on you and by reading up I mean hassling Mr Stark whenever he has enough minutes to spare.”

Frowning at the apple he was very carefully slicing, Peter didn’t know if he were more amused or confused. Both. It’s always, a bit of both. 

“Nothing that interesting about me Wanda,” A slice of the fruit was popped in his mouth and he spoke around it carefully, “nuh uh,” His chomping was endearing to her, yet troublesome, it appeared, to Vision who was surveying his tiny munching sounds with a curious look, “my senses can flare up over stupid things sometimes.”

Wanda leaned forward, pausing to grant Vision a very passionate albeit brief kiss before settling her delicate jaw into her the palm of her hands. Her dark painted nails were a focal point for Peter for a second, the silver jewellery she adorned on her slender fingers a tell to her personality. Along with that sense, it was a knack of Peter’s to notice details, sometimes irrelevant, sometimes they were gateways to behaviours, traits. Clues. 

Right now, however, he was just zoning out and nearly choked on the next apple slice.

“Sor—,” He coughed into his fist, “What, pardon?”

“I said,” Her voice was a _lazy_ Sunday morning lullaby, “what sort of things do they react to?”

“My senses? Uh, danger, mostly.” He got to work on another slice, thinking about it, “Imminent danger only, it’s sixth sense I’m not a clairvoyance or some sort of fortune teller. It’s just like… I can pick up on something that doesn’t feel right, it’s usually a dangerous situation, you know? Physical surroundings.” He nodded along, humming around the apple whilst green eyes never left his. “Sometimes people, individuals.”

His shrug didn’t discintruige his female company, “People?”

“Mhm.” 

“So you can tell when people are _bad_? Because that’s…,” She pointed a finger at him, slowly, squinting, “useful.”

Peter could’ve laughed in her face. The mouthful of the two final apple slices was pretty much the only reason he didn’t, snorting unattractively instead. He shook his head, about to comment on how he only wished that were the case; would save him a whole lot of trouble if it were, when Mr Rhodes came through and ripped the attention of a snoozing Mr— Clint, Wanda and Vision.

“Jesus Clint— wake up!” The single clap of his hands had the man groaning, something inaudible mumbled into the corner the armchair he was peacefully occupying. “I know, being a Father, Husband and war hero is all very consuming and tiring I got you.”

The sarcasm made Peter giggle, pushing his plate to the side. 

“Is this 2PM or 2AM, doesn’t matter to this guy,” Rhodey sighed, not looking like he was planning on hanging around, “All of you, boardroom. Just got in intel on some illegal arms deal in DC— early stages but the boss wants to catch it at the core. Clean swee—,” The man halted before he reached the door, “Has anyone seen Cap?”

Peter wasn’t really watching where he was going and bumped into Clint, “Oh, m-,” He was about to muffle out an apology but found three pairs of eyes looking at him, once again, it appeared he’d zoned out on the wrong part of the conversation or rather _the most important part_ where he was being addressed.

He felt dumb. Eyes wide, “Huh?” Looked it. “What’s up?”

“You were with him this morning, I saw you two conversing before he left Peter, did he say where he was going?”

Vision was awaiting his answer looking at him like it wasn’t that hard of a question and yet, Peter was dumbstruck again, scrambling to make sure he definitely did not miss any information. “No…” First go, he wasn’t so sure. “No he said something about being back later and that was it.”

Generic. Rhodey and Vision accepted this, spoke briefly about putting out a call for him to _bring in the dog_. 

Peter was hopping along behind Wanda and Clint, scurrying and slipping with his socked feet as he really only came down to grab a snack so didn’t get exactly dressed appropriately. He was in a blue hoody, cotton lounge shorts, odd socks and he was on his way to talk to Mr Stark. 

“Dog? S-sir?” Clint looked at him with a strange gait.

“What did you just call me? Son, loosen up.” It wasn’t harsh though, a warm hand coming to grip the back of his neck, a 'ruffling his hair' sort of gesture. “Name's Clint, say it with me—,”

“Sorry. Yeah.” There goes his embarrassment again. "Yeah."

“This is your home. Our, home.”

Right, Peter mused. He’s right. 

“It’s a pet name Tony uses.” Wanda offered, “A derogatory one despite past events proving he should really curb his tone, but…” 

But? 

Peter swallowed, only just turning the corner in time and nearly missing the top step of the short descent into the board room when he was just about to ask but _what_ and _whom_ , the pet name was referring to but he walked smack straight into the back of the head of this operation.

“Kid, perfect.” He didn’t even notice the attire, welcomed it. “Wanda, Vis, this one could probably be a back seat for you but I want you to be a party to what’s about to go down.”

Nat was there, Bruce of course, fiddling with something on one of the displays. 

They eventually settled into their seats around the large table, Tony tapping away at one of his phones which must’ve been his business one because seconds later his other lit up on the surface with Cap’s name. Tony answered it with his usual spirit, curt, short, but there was a pause and he’d turned away for a beat. 

Peter stretched his legs out beneath the table, toes wiggling inside the confines of his socks. He pouted, hair mussed, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Turning his attention to some spare pieces of paper he took up the nearest medium— a green pen, and began sketching shapes. He stayed like this, blissful for a few minutes. Legs swinging and his focus entirely on whatever mediocre masterpiece these lines were going to end up being, completely unaware of the conversation going on between Tony and Steve. 

He felt, odd, again. Looking up when the hairs rose on the back of his neck but not sure exactly where, he should be looking or at who. 

“All good webs?”

Peter blinked away the glaze, “Yes,” Snapped his head towards the silky voice of Nat, watching him with a smile, “yeah.” 

He sighed, swallowed around the building dryness and crossed his legs beneath himself. That unidentifiable feeling was back again, that ick. The exact thing Wanda was trying to get out of him not a half hour ago was right there, crawling up every vertebra, scratching up his oesophagus as though _screaming_ at him to take notice. 

But of what? Peter nearly spoke out loud, trying not to respond to his senses like they were a whole separate being. 

Natasha was still watching him, listening to her own gut as the boy had ceased the juvenile swinging of his legs, the pen now firmly lodged between his teeth, then tapping at his lower lip. His eyes were everywhere, wide and searching while the fingers of the unoccupied hand cracked each individual knuckle beneath the table. Something was up.

And as soon as Tony turned around again, it soon became clear exactly what.

“They’re here,” He spoke low, “get a move on.”

He hung up and right on cue, Sam came through the door to a faint cheer from Bruce and Rhodey, jogging down the short flight of stairs into the communal space. 

“What’s up, hey man—” He nodded to Tony, clapping his back before heading to the others who he hadn’t seen in coming on two months now. 

Peter’s heart rate apexed when he realised he wasn’t alone and the sound of boots had him following the noise of their descent, dragging his prying eyes up long legs, an even stronger, thick torso, intimidating shoulders and—

The pen clattered his teeth as he swiped it from his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand.

Mr Barnes. 

“ _Oh my_ ,” Peter didn’t dare finish it, ice blue eyes shooting to him almost immediately as if he heard.

They fell from him with no glimmer of interest, however, jaw set and tense beneath the stubbled surface. His presence was so heavy, it played havoc with Peter’s body. That was the same exact jacket he saw on moving day, this was the same feeling he had when he was stammering out responses to everyone around him. James fucking Barnes. 

Peter looked at Tony, who had tapered his acknowledgment to a courteous nod and had already moved to where Bruce set up the display, so he looked back to Nat, Clint, Wanda. Nobody seemed to feel it like he were feeling it why was nobody _bothered_ that Bucky was sat just mere metres away. 

“Hey,” Nat’s voice. Finally. She felt it too—

But when he looked at her at break neck speed he realised it wasn’t meant for him, she tipped her chin towards the broody looking man stood against the back wall. He was too tall. Too broad, too imposing. A silence about him that was too loud for it to be comfortable. He met her soft gaze and the corner of his mouth turned up a fraction in what seemed a genuine smile. 

“Tough guy come sit.” 

Oh no.

With only her legs, she pulled out one of the metal chairs for him to park his person. 

Wordlessly, her charm seemed to work on him as he shook his head but pushed off the wall and joined them, now under that metre away and Peter’s heart was hammering. He swallowed, staring at the green scribbles that’d been a place of comfort just moments before. 

“Steve will be joining us shortly, but for now,” Tony’s voice demanded his attention and the room of low frequency mumbles, fell silent once more, “let’s begin.”

Hairs rose all over his body, his fair skin needed to be itched but he didn’t know where to start. There was no escaping the discomfort of this lack of— release? Something. He didn’t feel safe but everyone else seemed to so that should make him feel better right? He tried clearing his throat, scratched the back of his neck feeling the ghost of something there. Tried listening he really did, so desperately to what Tony and Sam were talking about. Locations, the traffic flow that would need to be stopped but it wasn’t sticking. Everything was blurred. There was only one thing that wasn’t smudged and it was sat right behind him. One thing, his mind, body, all senses could focus on right now and if Peter dared to twist his lithe body just a little bit, if he only dared to turn and meet the man he’d feared for over two years, he’d see that he too, was the focal point of two steely, harrowing eyes staring right back. 


	2. Chapter 2

"I thought you were going to wet yourself, the speed you ran out of that room last week."

"He’s killed a _lot_ of people.”

“So have I, are you scared of me?”

“I'm not sc— you’re different.”

Nat did her best to suppress a smile, “Mr Parker I don’t know whether to be offended or grateful.”

“No,” His spoon clanged against the bowl, “no, you're just not evil.”

She was still smiling and Peter rolled his eyes. "James isn't _evil._ "

Having her around was like suddenly acquiring an older Sister that he didn’t realise he really wanted until he got it. She was always there to pull him up on his bullshit and keep his head on straight. Also, always there to tease him until she got exactly what she wanted. All delivered in a bouquet of comfortable jest of course, he felt at home with her.

She kicked his shin playfully, still smiling into her cup as he continued after a long beat. “No he's evil. His abilities are—,”

“Boundless.”

“Exactly, he’s—,”

“Big.”

“…y-yes, and—,”

“Strong.”

“Uh he’s, very strong yeah." Obviously. "But he’s not just ordinarily strong he’s—,”

“Moderately,” Natasha leaned in a little, “arrogant, witty. Handsome.” She smiled wistfully, mock adore in her voice, mischief littered across her face.

Peter’s brows twitched. Was she having a completely different conversation? “His attractiveness or lack of, has nothing to do with what uh, what— what I’m say—.”

“What about the other two I mentioned?”

The glass doors opened and closed behind them, Peter not bothering to look back. The tops of his ears felt particularly hot, his throat increasingly dry and the accusatory burn from green eyes was far too challenging to meet so he decided the only option was to regain interest in the bowl of fruit and yoghurt he’d abandoned. 

She straightens up. “To conclude then, he’s a dangerous guy.”

Peter’s words were left airborne, mouth moulded around his spoon, unable to understand the quick interchanging of her tone. 

“He’s powerful, disarmingly smart,” She adjusted her fingers through the handle of her steaming mug, “a murder weapon through and through, no doubt.”

Now Peter was really confused.

“But, that side to him is only brought out when absolutely necessary—,”

“I don’t think that side to him is _ever_ necess—,”

Her hand raised, “I’m not talking about Hyrda’s poison. Without his conditioning, he still remains a weapon because of the skill set he’s acquired. He doesn’t need a trigger to be a threat to our enemies Pete, but not to us.” She levelled him with a look across the counter making sure it settled in. “He is not a threat to any single one of us, when Bucky is Bucky.”

Peter was silenced. It’s not like he hadn’t heard this reasoning before. Steve had often done his part in trying coax the boy into reassurance over the Soldier’s violent potential; driving home that the darkest parts of him were not actually him. Everything Nat was laying out for him to hear was just a regurgitated speech reorganised. 

“The Winter Soldier… is still part of, Bucky.” Peter spoke slowly, softly.

He trusted her, everything about her was warm and everything the boy could confide in with ease, but there was a more precedent part of him, a voice in the back of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Mr Stark’s. It served as pressing reminder in times like these.

  
_“There’s a switch inside of him that fuses to that alter ego, the part that will kill without hesitation, the part that will attack without reservation or mercy, the part—,”_

_“M-mister Stark you don’t have—,”_

_“The part that killed my parents and that’s still, him. It’s still in him. It’s a switch that is far too easy to flick and that’s what makes him so dangerous.”_

  
“I know what you need.”

Peter jolted in his seat, ripped from his thoughts. “If you’re about to say a drink I really don’t.”

“ _What?_ Tony collared me for letting you have a glass of champagne at your party, no. Besides you’re eighteen what do you take me f—,”

“It was more than a glass.” Peter corrected, eyes crinkling more and more as he couldn’t stop the adorable grin from forming.

“Shut up.” Nat laughed, looking around as if it made any difference if someone could hear, “Shush, now, you. As I was saying, what you need is some time alone together.”

Peter’s stomach flipped. “No absolutely not, _no_ ,” He didn’t let her finish, “Natasha—,” Despite her best efforts, “—no! I’m not being alone in a room with him or— nuh uh, no, _Nat._ ”

The blood flushed from his cheeks or to them, he couldn’t really tell. Just the very thought of being stuck for any length of time with that man placed his body in full defence mode; her heart was in the right place but she didn’t understand just how fearful he was. He may be masking it as general dislike but deep down he really didn’t hold an ounce of confidence to look him in the eye never mind hold a conversation with him. 

Why, was his mouth suddenly bone dry.

“Peter.”

No.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re serious serious? Or just, serious,” 

Peter placed his glass down, licking water residue off his fair lips. “Natasha, I’m serious.” 

"Full naming me? Must be serious."

As soon as she smiled he did, and he groaned. “See! See now that doesn’t look very serious to me.”

“But _Naaaat—_ ,” 

Peter’s petulance was stunted when Bruce joined them at the counter. “What’s he moaning about?”

She hummed, looking graceful and adorable as she leaned into the kiss he pressed into her lips. She was about to expand on her point but movement over Peter’s shoulder stopped her in her tracks and her eyes glittered under the ceiling lights with something akin to affection. 

The boy huffed, bringing his knees up to his chest to hug. “N’thing.” 

“He still doesn’t want to try with Bucky.” Her voice was a whisper in Bruce’s ear as he poured himself some coffee that was situated between the two. 

“Ah.”

Peter was irritated by the knowing look, feeling like a child that was being patronised. Fairly irritated by the fact this seemed to be a topic of discussion between the two and dived back into his bowl of chopped fruit. 

Bruce also caught something over the teenager’s shoulder but he was too busy grumbling to see it, too busy curling in on himself immediately. He was a little cold dressed like he was, again. Socks pulled up at odd angles around his bare ankles, shorts that maybe were a little short but not short-short and a t-shirt that was entirely too big with a hoody that was also definitely a couple sizes his senior. He took a sip of water, pouting into the privacy of his knees as Bruce and Nat made light fun of him, when Bruce’s octave suddenly shot up.

“Well this shouldn’t be awkward then— _hey Buck_ , come sit down.”

B— 

Peter’s heart fell through his stomach.

Why was he even _there_? And, for how long?

It was a good job Peter’d swallowed otherwise he’d have choked. He felt his heart busting up his ribcage as the dryness drew tight in his throat and a cologne, _a cologne_ , infiltrated his nose from the stack of a man now taking up the space next to him. 

He refused the invitation to be seated however, turning his mouth down momentarily and pushed a memory stick across the counter to Bruce, “You forgot this.”

The man, to Peter’s bone chilling horror and quite frankly, _offence_ , leant into his crossed arms on the counter. Pete was sat on his right so he was stuck staring at an abhorrent amount of muscle stretching out the black t-shirt Barnes donned. 

“And that,” Bruce brandished the device before slipping it into his pocket, “is why I work with you.”

Peter all but gaped at the trio.

Since. When.

Barnes hadn’t acknowledged him yet, wasn’t sure if he even would. He simply preened when Natasha reached across the table to adjust one of the stray hairs in front of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. His hair was pulled back into half bun half, down? It was probably all meant to be pulled back but the choppy length had it falling in disarray which was borderline handsome. Mostly just annoying. 

“Ever thought about getting this chopped off?”

The domesticity was dizzying and Peter’s knuckles were turning white from holding his knees up so close like that. He hadn’t budged an inch.

The man made some sort of noise in the back of his throat as a reply.

“I think it suits him.” Peter side eyed Bruce. “Rugged and— what?”

Natasha gigged, “Did you just say, _rugged_?”

“What else am I supposed to call it?” Bruce was alight with defence, “Cute? He’s not exactly dainty.”

A couple months ago, Peter specifically remembers Bruce being very much on the same page as him when it came to Barnes. Didn’t trust him, didn’t enjoy his company, tolerated him for business only but now those reservations had flourished into a comfortable enough relationship to be calling him nice things. It was unnerving Peter something rotten, gulping down the nausea in his throat but when he caught Nat’s eye, it hit him.

“I guess it’s just refreshing to see you two love birds finally getting along.” 

She was the catalyst. The peacemaker. The instigator. 

“Fuck off.” But Bucky’s voice was nothing but soft when feminine fingers squeezed his cheek teasingly. 

It was a stirring experience to be this close to a Bucky anything other than mute and moody. The soft trill of birds just outside the window, the familiar scent of coffee swirling around their heads from the press and the most disturbing scent of that cologne that Peter had never picked up on before now. It smelt—

“Hey webs.” 

Expensive.

Pete looked up— big mistake. He was pierced by those eyes, pinned to the spot by them. Bucky was staring at him and it dawned on him that he’d been doing the exact same thing right back. His thoughts were too quick to pull him into daydreaming as of late and he felt his cheeks heat up humiliating fast as he realised he’d been surveying the strong lines of Bucky’s bulk up close.

The soldier said nothing, just leered at him over the mound of his shoulder. 

“Hello webs?” Romanoff.

“I didn’t—,” Peter choked it up, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Sure he wanted to deny whatever anyone was thinking regardless.

Nat pushed on with a smile in her eyes. Peter ignored the way Bruce was putting his glasses on, staring at him. 

“That project you needed.” 

Definitely ignored the eyes to his left altering, moving south. Before that very moment Peter had never felt more aware of his own body. That his legs were very on show and very, bare. He tried for his best voice, “Yeah,” Cleared it when it came out as a feathery rasp, “the Independent Study, yes.”

“Bio tech?”

“Bio tech.”

“Well.” Peter already had a bad feeling about it when she glanced at Bucky then back to him. He prayed to whatever entity was listening to not do this to him. Do not do this, do not do this, do not— “I think I found the perfect subject.”

Now, both Peter and Barnes were stumped and looked to her in unison. She however, appeared as though she were nursing some top secret information, looking at Bruce who was apparently in on it too but tactfully suppressing a smile behind the safety of his mug. Peter wanted to cry when Bucky stood up to his full height.

“Absolutely not.”

Apparently, Peter was the only one not in on it then. 

“Buck.” She regarded him with big eyes and a lilt to her voice the boy didn’t recognise. “Come on.”

Whatever it was, wasn’t up for discussion and Peter should be grateful. He should’ve been satisfied that whatever idea sparked was shut down by the man himself because the less talking that went down equalled the decrease in time spent in this company which was perfect. He really, really, should’ve just left it there.

“Hold on—,” His voice was small and Bucky’s fists visibly tightened where they lay on the counter. “What’s going on?”

Bucky scoffed, or at least he thought he did; a disapproval of some sort fell from those lips as he turned to Peter again and oh how he wish he didn’t because Peter felt like he needed permission to move or to speak every time he did. The young boy held the stare until it left, thanks to Natasha being a sudden ray of wit and light. “Well what a smart suggestion Pete, let’s leave you guys to discuss it between yourselves.”

Despite being sat very much still, Peter’s hand shot out to grip the counter lip like he would fall at any moment. 

‘“Huh?”

Code red.

“Hell no.” The gravel in Bucky’s tone _scraped_ the inside of Peter’s throat. “No—,” 

But Natasha was already on her tiptoes to tack a short, sweet kiss into the side of his face which despite the blaze in his eyes seemed to simmer the beast. She whispered something that Peter’s eyes prickled at, ‘ _be nice_ ’, and winked at the small boy who was still glued stupidly to the spot atop the bar stool. Bruce patted his checkered pocket with an apologetic look in his eye towards the kid and removed his glasses again, 

“I’ll uh, work this over, get it sent out for the testing and let you know,” Bruce was speaking to the Soldier, still patting his pocket. He definitely wanted to say something else but resigned, nodding with a tight smile before stepping out the kitchen completely. 

  
*

The pile of papers dropped with an even thud, dispersing the dust that had settled on the table. 

“Did you have something to do with this?” Tony peered at the Captain over his glasses.

Usually that question led to a guilty confessional which led to the never ending tension between the pair resurfacing. Usually, because most of the time Steve always had something to do with the one thing that Tony was recently stressed about. This time though?

“Those papers from Ross? No.” He joined him from the other side of the desk and begun rifling through the top half.

“You know I don’t have the time to read it.”

“And by that you mean I should also know you want me to instead?”

Tony held his hands out, “Everyone else is full. You seem to have a clear schedule, Rogers.”

Steve went about lining the edges up so he could slot them neatly into a binder. 

“Yeah well. I’m laying low.” He answered plainly. 

He was too occupied looking around this overcompensating office for a singular folder to notice the careful gaze of his counterpart following him. Not meticulously, just watching. The weapons deal was due to go down in two days and everything was set for tonight; travel, locations, hotels etc. It were to be an in and out job, a clean sweep from start to finish with minimum casualties and zero fatalities.

“You think I should’ve trusted the kid with this one?”

Steve slammed another drawer shut, “Christ Tony,” His hands were at his hips, “this office could house a family of four, where can a man find a damn binder?” 

Tony stared at him before tapping something on his desk and a drawer audibly unlatched around the captain’s knee height. The taller man did nothing but look at it dumbly beneath him and sighed. Probably holding in a few unkind comments. 

“Maybe.” He digressed, slamming the drawer shut after taking two. “The numbers are small enough.”

“You think sending in the dog is a bit much?”

Something passed over Steve’s features and he paused. “You should stop calling him that.”

“Why?” He was amused, satisfied at his reaction. “T’challa calls him… _what is it—_ White Wolf. Right? What’s so different?”

Steve snapped the binder shut and looked at him. A moment passed where neither man said what they really wanted to; the safe bounds of non verbal passiveness meaning they didn’t have to. “That’s a symbol of power, don’t act dumb Tony it doesn’t suit.”

Tony pressed his lips, tapping his table again to bring up a hologram between them. “You didn’t answer my question. These are the men we know are going to be there, you think it’d be unfair practise to let him swing in on those by himself?”

As if the sentence caught fire in his throat, Steve regarded Tony through the digital screen like he were absurd. 

“By himself? Absolutely, but alongside, no. Bucky and I have the ground covered, Clint’s in position to take care of the drop.” Steve looked away from the blue hued criminals lined up before him, “Peter would’ve been of good assistance.”

“Why didn’t you take Nat?”

“Because if things go sideways, I know it’ll be knocked back into joint by Bucky.”

Tony peered at him over his glasses again at length, “You’re telling me she’s incapable of handling the heat?”

Steve didn’t have a chance—

“Can I be the one to tell _her_ that?”

“After what happened with the heist I don’t want to have her exposed to that sort of scene again too soon.”

Tony concurred. Although reluctantly as he enjoyed nothing more than ruffling Roger’s perfectly preened feathers. The assault that backfired and landed Natasha in recovery fighting for her life was a sore reminder of how quickly things can flip to shit. No one wanted to risk her safety so soon, it wasn’t something that was up for debate. Bucky could take a shed load more damage than most, and if needed, capable of causing a whole lot more too. 

“Where is he, anyway?”

Tony tapped the gram away, seeming to have already thought the conversation was over. “Beg your pardon?”

“Bucky,” Steve clarified, “He came to the compound today but I haven’t been able to reach him on the phone for a few hours.”

“You guys text each other kissy emojis every hour just to keep tabs or?”

“ _Tony_.”

“He’s still here, F.R.I.D.A.Y logged his arrival late morning and hasn’t logged his departure yet. As to where, though,” Tony shrugged retrieving three empty coffee mugs, “try Banner.”

“Nope, just passed him coming from the lab, it was empty. Nat was with him,” Steven tacked on, hitching the folders in his arm, “but no one else.” 

A finger scratched idly at the speckled beard, not really listening. “Mhm. Must be heading out then.”

Suddenly, eyes onyx black and narrow, drew up in confused gait. “Hold on, Nat was with him? She was supposed to be with Pete until three—,” A glance at his watch told him it was nowhere near, “… you say Barnes wasn’t with Banner?”

Steve, donning a look of concern only Steve could, watched as he fumbled around with the display and made it disappear. “No, the lab was empty.” 

“How long ago was this?”

He was looking at him now, a hand held out waiting for Steve to answer quicker.

“About ten, fifteen minutes ago. Wh—,” It hit the man before it was out, Tony addressing F.R.I.D.AY into the void between them. A tiny, trickle of panic made its way down Steve’s spine as he watched the cogs turn in Stark’s mind, could feel the tension bracket their positions, pushing, _squeezing_ out their air supply as realisation fogged.

“No Sir, Mr Barnes has yet to check out of the compound.”

*

  
It’d been two minutes and thirty-two seconds since they’d been left to their own devices. The first thirty or so were spent in silence whilst Bucky ran some fresh water to drink from the filter and Peter kept his knees up, toes curled around the lip of the seat edge just watching him. As soon as he tried to ask what it was, the larger of the pair shut him down. It'd been a constant back and forth of the same since, Peter trying to get a word in edgeways without provoking the other.

“You can’t legally drink and yet,” The hems of Peter’s socks were getting torn up, an outlet for the frustration of wanting to speak but Bucky silencing him almost immediately, “— and yet, I should trust you with highly advanced, dangerous technology that you’d be applying directly to my body?” 

At this point, Peter still wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to take the bait and actually give this team building exercise a go, it was purely about principle now because he was tired of being underestimated for his age. And tired of being shushed.

“Hold up—,”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Very tired. 

“Okay, listen— _fuck_ ,” After a surge of adrenaline, Peter made the almighty move to stretch out his legs blindly, trying to find the floor but failing with his shortened stature. The whole process of manoeuvring himself from the chair to vertical was a less than graceful affair, but he shook it off, jogging up to the door Bucky was angling towards. “List— _hey_!” 

Seizing his arm was a mistake. Peter’s tiny fingers could barely stretch around his flesh forearm, the form solid and warm beneath his fingertips that it made the boy momentarily wonder how much of a contrast the metal one felt like. It stopped him at least, the man making a point of staring until Peter dropped his grip. Horrified, frankly, that he’d held on that long.

“So, I can’t drink but I can develop a software that could be used to fit into vehicles to read the driver’s inebriation levels and lock them out of driving therefore stunting the dangerous effects of something you deem such an important measure of my maturity and capabilities—,” He was smart but not smart enough to stop and take a breath mid sentence, sighing heavily for second, “so.” Peter crossed his arms. “You know.” He felt awfully proud until he realised his hands were trembling. 

Bucky surveyed him for a beat, may have even looked as though he were considering it. Peter felt a swell of confidence, the discrete bubble of a victory bell coming up until—

“You work on me, you’re gonna upset Daddy Stark.”

And just like that, he felt _bare_. 

“H-he will understand,” Mentally stripped of most of his sensible responses, Peter just blinked away from him. The man made him feel secluded, like he was up high on a pedestal for all to see. “I’ll uh, I’ll talk to him. Not you. I’ll do the talking.” Peter nodded, avoiding his gaze. “He’ll understand.” Nodded again, convincing no one. 

There was a storm in those eyes and it was tearing up every inch of Peter’s body— would’ve torn up Peter’s nerve too if he caught them on their way. “He lets you walk around like that?” 

Peter’s mouth popped open, felt like snapping his thighs together. “Pardon?” 

Peering down, he shifted his weight forward and itched the inside of his calf with his foot. It was a true wonder how he managed to almost lose balance, yet be fully capable of swinging around at sickening heights with the single use of webbing and land upright without a sweat. He frowned, pushing back an unruly curl, “Shorts?”

Bucky was least impressed. “Well done pretty boy, can you count to ten too?”

 _Pretty_.

He opened his mouth but clamped it back shut. 

He was being made a mockery of and felt powerless by any defence. Of all times this was not the place to act stupid and let sensory input knock him off balance, he needed to reign it in because Bucky was chipping away at his comfort bubble. Each belittling comment in that hazy Brooklyn accent, every stinging glance gave him the upper hand. Even the gazes that lingered too long and had Peter— Peter felt his tummy dip from the gaze that was on his thighs right now. 

“You’re...” He took his time, bringing Bucky’s shameless eye back up to his, “are you really picking on my clothes? This is my home, I can wear w-whatever I want.”

“You’re barely wearing anything at all, you bend over and I could have you done for indecent exposure.”

Bucky’s mind had swayed somewhere and it was evident in the speed of his uptake, the sarcasm too thin of a veil to cover it up. There was never really a rush to anything the man did anyway, movements constantly seeming to be a naturally slow, luxurious habit rather than a necessity. His speech was always low, points concise but a voice that held a hypnotic quality which either calmed you down or had you upright and paying attention to every, last, syllable. 

They really weren’t that short, Bucky was picking him apart and enjoying it. Peter glanced down at his powder blue shorts and seriously resisted the urge to pout. Again. He didn’t see the problem. “M’shorts are fine,” A loutish whisper between the small amount of space between them, “fucking…”

“What was that?”  
  
Peter snapped up, blinked once. “I said my shorts,” Cleared his throat, evening out the weight between his feet, “they’re fine, you’re just being mean to—,”

Something reigned the soldier in from making it very clear he hadn’t a clue what _mean_ was. “Your mouth.” Bucky’s eye dropped to fair lips and Peter resisted the urge to dampen them. “Curb it.” 

It dawned on Peter he was being chastised for cursing and an emotion got caught in his throat. He had no time to process why. Why he was allowing this.

This close, it was apparent just how fragile he was. Not physically, although he definitely looked it, but emotionally. Bucky was drawn tight with an ease of movement from another time, morals of a different era smudged from war and torture that kept his better manners hidden behind a hardened front. But they were still there. He didn’t have the wherewithal to be delicate about it, but it seemed his company wasn’t used to that.

"Sorry." A mumble at best.

“Are you 'bout to cry on me?”

God, this was overwhelming. 

“No?” Wasn’t a lie, wasn’t the truth. He shook the thought away and swallowed, his body wanting to just retract and curl up. “L-look," He could barely reach his eyes, "I just think we should make an- an effort, to try get along. Nat’s right—”

A sound came from Bucky’s throat that shunted the boy’s speech again, leaving him wide eyed and waiting. 

“Move.”

Peter panicked, side stepped to block him. And again, when he tried. 

Those five or six inches Bucky had on Peter were astronomically clear from there; holding the vantage point of not only height, but size too and as everywhere he was bulk and functional brawn, Peter was slight and lean. The taller leant into the glass just behind him, the metal folds of his cybernetic arm locking in place just inches from the boy’s face. No verbal threat was spoken. It didn’t need to be.

“If you don’t move, I’ll gladly assist.”

Peter had never felt tinier. Or, more stupid.

If the tower of a man wanted him gone all he had to do was lift and shift the featherweight of a boy off to the side. He could launch him with next to zero exertion, half way across the room if he wanted and walk out. They both knew that, the challenge a weighted presence between them daring the other to make the first move. But the other requisite truth was the very thing that kept Bucky from doing anything of the sort, no matter how much his pallet was wet at the thought. If he so much as laid a finger on the Princess, Tony would come down on him harder than any building, he would have his death sentence lined up and executed within the hour. 

Despite all this, Peter was never fully reassured that the mind behind the eyes, would stick to the safe side of that truth but he wasn’t going to back down now, not when this felt like he was teetering on the edge of something pivotal with somebody he’d known and avoided for three years now. 

However.

“Do it.”

Bucky caught the look. A lukewarm threat, a dare to overstep that mark. Amber swam in those wide eyes as they peered up, his lips pink, wet and set in a defiant line. If Peter’s small body wasn’t trembling the man may have indulged him and not took mercy.

“Hey!” Both men withdrew, “ _Hey!_ ”

Stark looked feral, adjusting his waistcoat as he bounded through the door with Steve hot on his heels. Bucky didn’t know whether to be pissed at the display of his friend’s face; looking as though he thought there was a chance they were going to find a more brutal scene. 

“Alright, I’ve had a bad day buddy I don’t need you loitering around places you’re not supposed to be.” He looked beyond him, snapped his fingers. “You, c’mere.”

Immediately regretful, Peter was ready to _dive_ into an explanation. “Mr Stark—,” 

“I don’t care come here.” He repeated himself, raised an eyebrow at the delay in the boy’s response. 

Carefully avoiding all physical contact with the man he shuffled over, head bowed in defeat. The adrenaline he was riding moments before replaced with a spike of guilt, feeling stupid and overstimulated. But there were remnants of that strange power surge he got from challenging Bucky, fluttering around his sternum. Finally slipping from under Mr Stark’s protective radar and disobeying. Turning around, it were as if Bucky could read his mind.

The rogue straightened, the muscles in his back audibly crunching as he did so. The whole thing felt awfully planned, to him. Like Peter’d laid out the trap, pushed enough buttons just in time for saviour Stark to come running once he’d landed him in a compromising position that looked like he were about to break his neck. 

Maybe he wanted to now. 

“Out.”

“Bucky wasn’t—,” That was the first time he’d said his name. Probably the last by the look on Tony’s face, making the boy shrink back. "We just-,"

“Buck.” 

Steve looked unreadable. Bucky hated it. He motioned for him, them, to leave in that almost apologetic way which he wished to peel off with a toothpick; a defeated look pulling at the corners of his resolve, which he hated more. Licking his lips, he looked at _Peter_ , not Stark, when he spoke.

“Your puppy’s got bite.” 

Bucky’s drawl lingered in the air after he left, shoulders too broad disappearing behind the stained glass panel and Peter let go of a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.


	3. Chapter 3

Ned, adorable Ned. Most of whom had the pleasure, displeasure —depending on where you’re standing— of knowing Peter knew that he had a general optimistic outlook on most things but such enthusiasm is usually reserved for the subjects he most likes; that wide eyed motor mouth type tangent he steams off on when his passion is tickled. Something which endears the majority. Irritates the rest. Regardless, the ability to keep his juvenile excitement to a low level and his frantic mouth shut has been gradually honed in the recent year, leaving a brighter contrast between himself and his best friend. 

“ _The_ , Winter Soldier?”

Peter choked on his drink, the straw almost getting lodged in a rush to stifle him.

“Oh my god _Peter_ you—,” He looked like he could’ve exploded right there on the spot, “you could’ve been dead within seconds.”

That, wasn’t what he was expecting. “Ne— _oh my g_ —,” He coughed into his fist, looking at the thick plastic straw like it betrayed him. His friend was hardly concerned about the spluttering fit, an awe stricken half-smile sort of look plastered on his face as he continued.

“Imagine how cool that would be though…”

Avoiding the half assed glances from the table of teenage girls to the right, Peter tried to make himself as small a possible behind his soda and whispered, hoping it’d catch on. “What would be cool?”

“Getting killed by him.”

Surely he heard wrong. 

Interpreting Peter’s confused look as curiosity, Ned hummed around his milkshake, doing a weird wiggle in his seat. “I mean obviously being dead isn’t the cool part, but being killed by _him_? That’s a headline I’d respect.” He laughed, non ironically to Peter’s annoyance. “How many people can say they’ve been obliterated by the Winter Solider?” 

Peter flinched at his volume, looking everywhere but the girls still staring. “Actually I think there’s an extensive list, Ned.”

“Oh!” He was laughing again, “No! I mean of course, yeah, the whole,” He made quotations mid air, “ _Hyrda Missi—_ ,”

“Ned.” 

“Yeah?” He blinked once, swirling the straw around the thick chocolate liquid. Peter watched the bubbles effervesce for a beat before looking back up to his clueless companion. 

“My point is, I’ve never felt flustered around someone like that before.” He hoped he were making his point. “Ever.”

“Well yeah,” Ned shrugged, “you don’t trust him.”

“No— I mean _yeah_ , I’m not—,” Since was getting words out this difficult? He felt like he were in a pressurised container. “Even around bad guys, the _worst_ of the _worst_ I’ve never felt that out of step before. My senses,” Peter lowered his voice, made some vague gesture with his hands, “y’know, they trip and stuff but not to the extent where I feel like I did in that room man. It was something different than just being on edge.”

Involuntarily, he may be reliving it a little bit. He jabbed his straw into the fizzing liquid in his cup as they sat in silence for a second or two while he zoned out. Without really realising it, his mind took off into that small space he’s unfamiliar with yet could only associate with two grey eyes and a voice that had no business being so calm. Nerves, excitement and the protruding vein of fear that ran through every second he spent in the vicinity of that room was coming back to him, had the fair hairs lining the nape of his neck rising. Then the ghost of a thick metal arm caging him against glass snapped him back to the present.

“ _Peter_ ,” His drink was knocked and the ice cubes nearly sloshed the liquid over the rim. 

“Huh?” 

Ned was sat with a bizarre smile on his face. His eyes were darting between him and—

“Hi, sorry,” Peter’s eyes widened at the girl suddenly very close and very intrusive, “we were just wondering— I’m sorry, but do you know James Barnes?”

She was a petite thing, delicate features with glasses that didn’t really fit her nose well as she kept nudging them back up the bridge. Pretty, obviously harmless but abnormally close to the table and Peter felt like he had to lean back to avoid breathing her air. “Um…”

“Like the actual Bucky Barnes,” She pointed a neatly manicured finger beyond Peter and straight towards one of the television screens playing the News, behind the bar. Plastered over it were images of Steve and Bucky, freeze-frames of them coming out of Union Station with red bannered headlines just below reading something about ‘ _suspects in fatal condition’, ‘Brazilian’, ‘Russian_ ’ and 'imports'— ' _heavy weaponry_ '. All things Peter’d heard Tony and Rhodey lay out in the boardroom. 

The reporter rang in Peter’s ears despite trying his best to block it out. ‘ _Steve Rogers and James Barnes were seen leaving just moments after the blast was contained and the police accessed...'_

“It’s just,” She was nervous, continuously tucking her hair behind her ear even though it just kept falling forward, “we heard you talk about the _Winter Solider_ and we,” She couldn’t stop giggling, the unidentified _we_ joining in from the table just behind her, “well we just wondered if you could—,”

“No.” It came out sharper than either of the boys recognised. “I don’t,” Peter shook his head, fully aware his voice was going to start shaking from the blatant lie if he didn’t hurry through it, “I don’t know him, we were talking hypothetically.”

The girl gave him a look that was stirring that peculiar feeling in his stomach. She looked at Ned who was still smiling back mechanically like someone needed to slot a coin in and pull a lever to unlock the next movement. He was smart, a noble friend, but a terrible liar.

“Didn’t you just say you were like, nearly killed by him though?” A new girl sounded from the table, the obnoxious veil to her voice had Peter weighing up whether he disliked her or Ned— currently— more, throwing a pointed look at his friend across the table who shrunk back a little. 

Enough was enough. It was getting late anyway and Peter was too distracted, too weirdly annoyed to continue this conversation so he went for his most convincing laugh and it must’ve worked because the girls started giggling too. “No, no, no,” He checked his phone that only had a new email and an essay due date reminder, a message from Aunt May, “that was the hypothetical thing. But hey, if I _were_ to get in a fight with Mr Barnes?” Maybe he was laughing too much. “I think I’d win.”

The girls were a chorus of laughter then, mocking Peter’s apparent joke. Of course they didn’t believe him but it got rid of them, sort of. Unfortunately the faux friendly act worked too well and they were all leaning over to talk to them for the next couple minutes and Peter wanted gone. It was late and he needed to get back to the compound. Tony’d put a curfew on him ever since— well, Barnes happened. So much for the drastic security measures for the baby of the group being lifted once he’d moved in. 

It didn’t take long for the boy to get the message across to Ned that they had to up and leave, enough persistent glances at his phone and a polite excuse later, they were moving out the swinging front doors of the diner only to be stopped immediately by the sheet of rain pounding the pavement. 

“Holy _sh—_ ,” 

He couldn’t even use expletives without thinking of him. 

“Do you really think that?” 

Peter squinted up at the dark sky as they both braced themselves under the overhanging roof. He juggled his phone to dial a taxi and simultaneously dodged a couple who were sodden to the bone, slotting in next to them for shelter. It took a nudge for Peter to register it, raising his voice to compensate for the thrum of rain. “Think what?”

Ned turned to him, “Beating Wint—,” Not wanting to make the same mistake as before he stutters, “o-operation Old Man, you think you’d successfully uh, complete?” 

Ned looked to the couple and the small crowd that’d just swung the doors open behind them, the low hum of voices lighting up for a few seconds, muffled the next. With a thumb hovering over the little flashing blue dot for his Uber, Peter regarded him as though he’d just spoken an ancient language. Then it hit.

“You mean if we fought?” Old Man, very clever. Peter smiled genuinely for the first time in the past half hour or so. “Yeah man, definitely.” Peter nodded, craning his neck to look at the on coming traffic through the wet visor of torrential downpour. 

There were cogs turning in Ned’s mind and that meant one of two things; either it was going to be something revolutionary or Peter was going to have to defend himself or scold him. 

“I don’t buy it.”

“What?” Peter’s fringe was dampening from the humidity, Ned’s cap preventing his from doing the same. 

“He has a metal arm.”

“ _So_?”

“Dude he’s combat trained. A Sergeant. He has enhanced strength and abilities of those that he _already_ had.”

The boy jumped at the sound of an eruption of car horns. Ned side eyed him, “…and you’re not really as, composed.”

“I might not be as refined or, or—,” Peter nearly spat out his words, peppered offence in his tone, “ _experienced_ , but still. I can be pretty strong when I have to be, I can take a lot of damage. My webs, too,” Peter leaned in, voice small, “you’re forgetting that tiny detail.”

Ned still didn’t look convinced. 

Peter digressed, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I fought him once and he didn’t kill me then,” Peter swallowed at the memory, naive back then as to who he was and the imminent shit storm he’d enter, “so uh, you know. It’s not something I need to know the answer to.”

Hopefully something he never will. Logic provided evidence that the man would definitely be able to overpower him if he really needed to or, which Peter was convinced would be the case if it came to it, _wanted_ to. Without his webs Peter was undoubtedly strong but stronger than Bucky? He wasn’t so sure. He was sure however, that he didn’t have the skill set Ned had so kindly reminded him of. Not like that wasn’t something he’s been consistently reminded of for the past three years at every mention of his name, not like it wasn’t something he was acutely aware of four days ago in the kitchen. 

Ned’s voice was there again, talking animatedly about something Peter had zoned in and out of. He felt rude and made a vague humming sound as his pal rattled on excitedly, checked his phone. 

“Oh crap.”

“And— what?” 

The blue dot indicating his ride was nearby had vanished. One glance at the time told him it wasn’t an in-app glitch. “I’m past my curfew.”

“Peter, it’s not even seven—,”

Both boy’s attention, along with the rest of the crowds gathered along the building’s edge, was diverted to the throe of beeps and shouting as a large SUV pulled up curb side. It parked arrogantly with no apparent awareness for the surrounding traffic. Blacked out, the kind of clean that you could see your reflection from down the road in and no plate. Stark.

Cursing beneath his breath, Peter grabbed Ned by wrist. “Come on, they can give you a ride.”

  
*

  
Steve had surpassed the security metrics of the main private quarters. After a brief conversation with Tony about the injury in the living space, he left quicker than he’d entered and dragged Barnes along with him towards the lab instead, mumbling. There were a limited list of select few who could access it from the outside in, regardless of whether they had an individual pass into the building. Barnes, was one of those names with restricted access from the gate onwards much to the blonde’s dismay. He’d tried reasoning for months now, tried to tap through to the part of Tony that knew his reservations were understandable but unreasonable all considering. Every time he thought he could loosen the vice Tony had around Barnes’ name, the man himself would somehow slip up and send it tumbling several spaces back. 

Four days ago was the latest slip and Bucky’s quiet version of events didn’t exactly help. 

_“What the fuck d’you think I would’ve actually done to him?” Bucky was certain it was meant to be the other way around, certain a near century’s worth of trust should mean something at least. But when the questioning came, it had the man regressing._

_“I told you it had to be baby steps, with other people around. You knew it was going to have to be a gradual build, your relationship with Peter, whether you want one or n—,”_

_“You didn’t answer me.”_

_Steve was momentarily defeated, withdrawn but not entirely convinced. “I know you wouldn’t have hurt him.”_

_“Good.” Bucky concluded, beeping his car doors. “Nothing more to discuss.”_

Now, it was late in the evening, four hours after their bust in DC and it appeared most of the tension had been worked out through the raid; infiltrating and disarming thirty men that should’ve been clean but turned dirty fast, dull sounds of bones cracking between blood smeared palms. Bucky’s. And to an extent that wasn’t necessary or appropriate for what was happening. Which took up a large part of the argument on their flight back to New York and after an hour of barely audible grunts from Bucky, picked up again half way down the elevator ride to the lab. 

“I didn’t kill anyone,” The stately drag of his voice suited the devilish curve to those lips, “untwist your panties Steve.”

Bucky shouldered off the checked shirt and flung it over the chair, wincing a little from the multiple lesions across his skin, bruises that would deepen over the next few hours but no pain that wouldn’t be gone within a couple days. After all these years Steve would never be accustomed to his ease of sarcasm during the most serious scenarios; the way it flowed from him like a taunting faucet. “That’s not the point, we could’ve made it a lot cleaner. You’ve hospitalised _eight_ —,”

“I had some tension to release.”

“Right. Civilians are your punching bag now?”

Bucky squared him, eyes hooded but set. “Criminals.”

“ _Ladies,_ ” Natasha came floating in with her effortless charm, throwing Steve a wink and slinking up on her tip toes to kiss the other’s cheek. He leant down into it as she ran her hand through his hair and sighed. “Seriously, consider cutting it. Your face is too pretty to be concealed.”

"I thought you were resting." Bucky's gaze was nothing but affectionate, even if his tone spoke differently.

She turned to hide the twinge in her side — her month old injury playing havoc and managed to seat herself in a chair carefully. Steve coughed, ignoring her fiddling with what looked like a small battery before she pulled a pack of something from her pocket. Both men left the subject alone.

“Still, there was no need for that calibre of violence.”

Bucky caught the peanut Nat launched open mouthed and frowned. “You're telling me you don’t ever look at someone and have their sophisticated murder scene play out perfectly in your mind?”

“ _Death_.” Steve corrected, arranging the instruments on the bench like he were prepping for surgery. 

“That’s usually the consequence, yes.”

“No you said murder, like you’re walking around envisioning kill….” It trailed off when he caught Bucky smirking. Natasha’s laugh was loud, dirty, as it reverberated off the walls. “Alright. What’s your point?”

Bucky fiddled with the hem of his vest and stripped himself bare. “That’s how I feel about Tony.” 

“ _Buckyyyy_ ,” Nat twirled a little in her chair, her giggling bouncing around his ears, “stop it.”

The speed at which Steve collected the article from the floor had his friend ducking, but not enough for he landed a thwack on his arm before laying it neatly over the back of the chair with his checkered shirt. “Sit down.” He didn’t have a clue what he was doing but he’d seen Bucky open up a layer of his arm before to inspect it, had the faint echo of Shuri’s guide in his mind as he tried to remember the basics, step by step. 

Bucky’d refused the help at first, insisting he could work through it and get it seen another day but Steve was adamant. The different kind of adamant he only had post mission. Call him a sucker for baby blues and stubbornness. Conversation turned from the unnecessary attention that came from focusing on his arm, to the skin tech they’d been discussing not a week ago. The same biotech, Natasha had briefly laid down the foundation for Peter to pick up. 

Steve tapped his bicep. “So _that’s_ why you were stuck in there with him?”

Nat threw another salted peanut in the air and caught it with her mouth, proud of herself.

“Wait, you haven’t told him?” Her accusatory glare was on Bucky. She shook her head when he closed his eyes leaving the _and in about three seconds you’re going to find out why_ unsaid. “I thought it would be a good idea to kick start the bond between them, you know. He’s not going anywhere and neither is this chump. Thought it’d you know,” She shrugged, hand deep in the packet again, “give Peter a unique project for college and Bu—,”

“And Tony an aneurysm.” Cap was not on board.

Bucky breathed out a strained sound. “See what you’ve done?” 

“What? It had to start somewhere. Pete’s been tiptoeing around his existence for I don’t know how long, I’m sick of him viewing him as a ticking time bomb just because of a past he had zero control over.” She was defiant, the gentle humour sort of drifting from her.

Steve knew Tony would not be okay with leaving Peter and Bucky to their own devices any time soon. It would take _supervised_ drip-feeding of Bucky into the boy’s routine to even begin building up the level of trust needed to allow them to be alone, together. What happened may have been a miscommunication but to Tony, that information wouldn’t go through. Right now, Peter was curious but still a fragile deer caught in headlights around him and as long as Tony saw that, his parental instinct would remain in tact and Peter would be untouchable under his watchful eye. If they didn’t want holes blown into this dream team Rogers had always preached about, it was going to take patience.

The conversation had shifted again and Bucky wanted it swiping. “Listen, it’s not going to happen.”

“You’re _damn_ right it’s not going t—,”

“Lower it Rogers I meant the tech. It won’t be coming from here,” He motioned to his arm, “under Stark’s roof. Pass me the laptop I’ve been doing my own research.”

Slotting her hand beneath the device she paused, “Does this mean— Bucky you can use a laptop?” 

He snatched it from her, “Comedy gold.” Flinched when something sparked from whatever Steve pulled at in his forearm. 

He opened the laptop with ease, balancing it on a sturdy thigh. “There’s a guy posted in the City, a professor at MIT. Goes by the name of Quentin _Beck_. Smart scrub, done a lot of work on hologram technology just like King Dick up ther—,”

“Uh, what’re you…”

Everyone turned to the tiny voice and Steve sparked again, nerves of steel apparently everywhere but this lab. Bucky cursed and flexed his arm, earning a chorus of apologies from him as Natasha suppressed a laugh. If Tony’d had been willing to take a look there would be a whole less sparking and a whole lot more success. Progress. Alas, it left Steve improvising. He went for a _calm_ smile, wiping it with the scruff of his t-shirt. “Peter, couldn’t have timed that better.”

Natasha patted the seat next to her and Bucky nearly threw it at her head. “Come sit baby spider.”

There was no way Tony had authorised this so soon after what he caught, and if he had, Peter knew that he should be anywhere but within fifty metres of it. He read the room pretty quickly, Steve, previously sat with an encouraging smile now poking at something in Bucky’s metal arm— his forearm. There was a cut on his lip. Bucky, himself, sort of with his back to him from here. Topless. There was a muscle contracting just below the scarring to his left shoulder blade and he cursed, followed by another apology from Steve. Peter chose to press down on that chord, tried to ignore the imposing physical threat he felt from the mass of Bucky’s back alone and looked to Nat, still looking at him. He shifted nervously and she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Come, _here_.”

At least he was fully dressed for the first time being in Mr Barnes’ presence; blue jeans and an old red t-shirt, converse. An acceptable outfit. Wouldn’t attract too much attention. Like that muscle shifting again. This time when something sparked, Bucky’s timbre made him leap. 

“ _Steve_!”

Peter pushed forward, readjusting his grip around the books he were cradling. “What’re you guys d-doing?”

Bucky slammed the laptop shut. “Buying insect repellant.”

If Peter could summon lasers from his eyes there’d be a hole in the back of Bucky’s head, as it stands though, the meanest look he could muster held the unfortunate resemblance to a wounded animal. Suitably he had the coordination of Bambi on ice when stepping forward then, bumping his hip on the desk and nearly dropping the stack he’d clutched against his chest.

“Alright,” Steve was there in an instant, grappling the majority of what Peter’s smaller frame was struggling to, “I got this, go sit over…” Briefly scanning the covers and binders it occurred to him there was a theme, “Skin tech? You've been reading up on the sim?”

Thanking him and pulling at his t-shirt, Peter looked up. “What d’you—,” Then to the folders, “oh, yeah. That’s some personal research, project, thing. I just— light reading.” 

The lie was adorable. He was oblivious to the fact Natasha had just informed him that she was the one who planted the seed. It was a major coincidence that Barnes was wanting to find a way to imitate skin to cover his arm and the young boy suddenly had throes of books about biotechnology. 

Bucky was within reaching distance, head hung with the bridge of his nose between his fingers like he were nursing an impending headache. His posture was terrible slumped over the table like that, which was odd for a Soldier who had a naturally rigid back but on examination, he supposed there wasn’t any graceful way to have a prosthetic arm stretched out and maintain a healthy spine. 

“Tony knows.” Nat sighed, ripping the dialogue from Peter’s troubled little head as he tentatively edged his way round the back of Bucky and hoisted himself atop the work bench next to her. “Wasn’t too keen on helping us out with Bucky’s arm, given the circumstance.”

Steve was carefully lining his books over at the other table, making Peter’s heart squeeze at the tender display. He swung his legs a little, pushing his weight into his palms rested next to him on the bench. “Um, circumstance?”

He knew it was an obvious answer, the two pairs of eyes on him then making him scramble over his words, “No, I mean I know _why_ , but he’s not heartless why wouldn’t he look it over?”

“He’s in a bad mood.” Steve served immediately, settling back into his seat. 

“But, he and Vision are the only ones who have the knowledge to even try. No offence Steve."

“He’s just a little grouchy, more important business y’know,” Nat interjected, not liking the way Bucky’s jaw was clenching, “and his arm isn’t really damaged, just took a beat from a bad angle. That’s all.”

Peter seemed to mull this over, his ankles were crossed and he chewed sightly on his bottom lip. The squint in his glistening doe eyes was a universal signal that he didn’t believe what was being said. “M’okay. _But I just—_ ,”

Bucky seized the opportunity. “Because, sweet peach, I pissed him off.” Peter’s body jolted, his legs immediately halting. “I shattered five spinal columns, punctured three— four? Sets of lungs, peeled the skin from their skulls with a pocket knife and imploded a couple nasal capacities leaving them not only in hospital fighting for their lives but on the waiting list for reconstructive surgery. Not really in the mood to see me.” 

Nat was hiding most her face behind her hands, unreadable, and Steve looked like he were considering stabbing the metal instrument straight through his arm.

Yet Bucky winked and dragged his heavy gaze away from the boy’s, satisfied with the lax look of horror distorting his dainty features.

Peter had opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out, his palms, the creases in his tummy and the backs of his knees all feeling oddly clammy.

“He’s exaggerating.”

Even Nat’s voice didn’t deter the scene Peter had playing out in his mind’s eye. Made an accidental whimper of a noise in response that had Bucky breaking his neck to catch. Peter’s jaw snapped shut. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” The man adjusted himself in his seat. “I didn’t peel their skin off.”

The thing about Bucky, that Peter has come to realise, is that when in the same room he’s not a depressing or looming presence just as much as he isn’t a spritely or particularly energising one. He doesn’t demand the room or hold centre of attention. He’s just quiet, observant. He will sink into the background and speak only when necessary. But it seemed no one mistook all the silence for compliance, or his lack of volume or dominance in said room as weakness but rather an unspoken strength. He may not ever be the loudest but he’ll never fall as prey, for the Alpha doesn’t need noise to prove he is the Alpha.

Nat was comfortable around him, too comfortable. He wondered if it sparked a twinge of jealousy in Bruce. Most likely not, he was an openly affectionate, kind man and seemed to be happy directing a portion of that affection towards Bucky himself, so he was probably on board with their close relationship. It was a sight to observe however, Peter forever drawn to the unknown and Bucky, being any sort of gentle was definitely a source of wonder. 

All three males nearly jumped from their seats when she made a pained sound.

“Nat,” Steve was worried, always troubled with something, naturally, but his eyes were unwavering, gripping her side then.

“I’m alright, I’m alright. It’s a phantom pain.” Despite her best efforts to disguise the pain in her voice, her face betrayed her, “…really.”

Bucky flexed the fingers of his limb, a mechanical sound as pieces lodged back together and the metal strips tightened back to their solid formation. “You know how bad a cook you are?” 

Nat looked up, her hair falling forward as she lolled her head back. “True sadist, huh.” Sounded almost out of breath. “Kicking me— _ah_ , while I’m down?”

“You’re an even worse liar.” He smiled then, and Peter _stared_.

Bucky was standing and Peter felt like he should too, the muscles across those monumental shoulders shifting, the bulk contorting beneath skin. The weight of him visible as he turned and cracked his back. He didn’t turn around long enough for his torso to be exposed but in the second that he did to collect his top Peter looked away. 

Away, was regrettably located exactly where Steve was and he was studying the reaction. Peter felt like he’d been caught with his pants down.

Before he could process any of what those stupidly soft blue eyes were trying to deduce however, Nat’s purr brought him back around to see a clothed Bucky scooping Nat up from her uncomfortable position. 

It felt void for there to be no comment from Steve. Normally, anyone handling Natasha in any manner had a reminder to be careful, or something that would elicit an eye roll from the woman who’d tell him to ‘not get soft on her.’ But here, there was nothing. It was clear Steve knew there was no danger, no risk of any further ailment in Bucky’s arms. In fact, his 360 degrees of calm was almost unnerving in itself because he was looking at them as Bucky lifted her fluently, holding her against his torso, like there wasn’t a safer place on earth.

“Let’s get you laid down.”

Bruce was away for a couple days. The men knew that without confirmation anyway, as there was no way she’d be pestering them at this hour otherwise. Bucky was having none of her protests as she seemed to be running her mouth but suspiciously subdued in his arms, an infuriating contradiction that pulled at the most protective parts of him. Always has. 

*

_Just go in, ask him for the book and leave,_ he said.

 _It’ll be easy_ , he said. 

_It’s not so late he should still be up, just be nice. Try a smile._. 

Where Steve was morally shocked by Bucky’s sarcasm half the time, Bucky couldn’t fucking stand it on him. It didn’t sit well. Especially when it was being used against his character and the tiny human he would rather avoid over fake pleasantries with. The closer he got to his room, the more a citrusy, floral scent infiltrated his nose. It was sweet over heady. Something he remembers from not so long ago. The boy must’ve taken a shower not long after the lab.

Tracing the corridors that were lit up like an aeroplane aisle, Bucky finally came to the door he was instructed towards. Taking a long breath in the last three strides up to it, he knocked. Checking over his shoulder had become a habit, doing just so as he rocked on his heels. 

No answer.

He knocked again, already wanting to lie about him being asleep to Steve. But stayed, knowing he’d see right through him. 

Peering down he picked a piece of lint off his shirt, considering buttoning it up over his vest until—

“Hello?”

Bucky turned his ear to the door, straining to hear that movement again. But to no avail. 

“Fuck this,” He pushed down on the handle and let the low LED light spear into the darkened room. Dark, apart from the lamp on the left dresser, Peter’s hand hanging over the side of his mattress like he’d fallen asleep mid stretch to switch it off. Bucky noted the chaotic mess in general, trickling down the oversized t-shirt that was hitched up his back, the boxer shorts— loose, cotton. The sheets were strewn around his frame.

He seemed to have dozed off mid-reading too, slim fingers slotted between pages. The soft orange glow from the lamp lit up the smooth edges of Peter's- everything. There wasn't a rough or angular point on him. Seemingly sewn together by feathery pieces and nimble joints. His hair was damp, just as Bucky'd suspected. Steadily curling wispy at the edges as it dried.

For the strangest moment, Bucky felt compelled to reach out and _touch_.

"Alright." He spoke to no one but himself. 

Pushing himself towards the bookshelf floating above the desk, he searched for the title he needed. Thought it'd be a hefty size if it were the same textbook Steve'd described. They were all science based, a couple of astronomy ones wedged between Star Wars figures that really screamed Peter's youth.

Still, finding nothing, Bucky pushed out a silent sigh and almost turned around. Almost, catching the corner of a book underneath a pile of notebooks haphazardly stacked on top.

“What...”

Bucky turned immediately. “ _Fuck_ ,” He dropped the book, “shit, you made me jump.”

"Buck-?" A hiccup lifted the edge off, a picture of confusion and sleep crumpled rising up on unsteady arms.

"Don't worry, I'm not-,"

The only answer he gets is Peter launching himself at him, bringing the book down as Bucky shoves his left hand up to block it.

“ _Pete._ " He blocked another jab, of course the book was hardback, “calm d—,”

“ _Get away from me_!" Peter was nearly screaming, "Get out, get out! Why are you in my _room?!_ ”

The elder ducked when the book was thrown at him, looking towards the resounding thud it made and right back at the perpetrator. It would be a damn miracle if that didn’t wake any neighbours. Bucky’s patience was another loud noise away from snapping. “Keep, your fucking voice down,” Held out a hand, “Steve sent me in here—,”

Right on schedule, he reached for the next available book and went to attack him again but by now Bucky was done with play time. He blocked it with his hand once more and shifted, grabbed Peter’s forearm with the other and twisted it behind his back. It takes two seconds, all told, and it leaves them pressed up tight, hips nearly flush.

“Stop it.” Bucky says firmly. The boy kicks at him, nearly losing his balance in the process. In fact, the only thing keeping him upright is Bucky’s frightful grip on him.

“ _Heeeelp_!” 

Brilliant.

He didn’t fancy being caught in Peter’s bedroom, in the middle of the night whilst he was wailing like that. Plus the incessant kicking is bound to make Bucky’s ankles a little sore in the morning which he’d like to avoid, so it seemed only natural he decided, to swing them around and shove Peter down face first over the table. It was easy enough to do; Peter is light, easy to move. His super strength struggling to surface in the sluggish daze of fatigue. 

He doesn’t realise how it looks until Peter starts really struggling, biting at Bucky’s hand as he slaps it over his mouth, trying to silence him. It’s as effective as one would expect, muffling him a little but not nearly enough so he leant forward and piled his entire weight into Peter, his bottom swelling nicely against Bucky’s crotch, to quickly adjust his grip to around his throat and squeezes. That, quickly stunts the sound.

The distant clatter beneath the door behind them couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“Will you pipe down?” He asks hopefully.

What he really wanted to say was, would you pipe down if I smashed something over your head. 

Should he smash something over his head?

Yes. 

A numb sound just made its way out of the boy's throat, and Bucky let up when he realised he were seconds away from cutting off his air supply. With a well calculated hand manoeuvre, he let up and pressed down on the side of his face, smushing his cheek against the wood. The potential for pain if the man applied more pressure had the teenager’s sounds contained to low grunts. 

He was like a bar of soap, lithe, petite, wriggling. “Let—,” Tried moving his legs, “lemme _go_!”

“I’ll back up if you stop whining like a dumb baby.”

A huff, strangled at best. Other than that, no response.

"Settle."

It would be nice to say Peter instantly goes still. It would be nice, but it would also be a lie. Peter takes a solid two minutes to stop, still grumbling to himself, wood creaking underneath his weight as he keeps squirming, trying to find a way out of Bucky’s grasp. In all honesty he had to suppress a laugh. Bucky’d never met a person with such poorly planned escape routes in his entire life. There’s literally nowhere for him to go. If he broke free, he doesn’t have the capacity to move fast enough around Bucky to get to the door. One look at his wrists told him the tiny thing wasn’t equipped with any webbing either. 

“Boy.” Bucky prompts, shaking Peter’s wrists to get his attention.

It took a few stubborn beats, until.

“I won’t scream.”

“Swear to it.”

Peter mumbles, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. Bucky tightens his grip by a fraction, feeling the fragility of his bones beneath his fingertips.

“ _Ow_ , o-okay— I won’t,” Did his best to shake his head, “I won’t scream I swear, I swear,” He dips his spine to try and get away from the pressure, “ _p-please_.”

The whimper sent an unexpected pulse to Bucky’s cock and he released immediately, shocking himself into a reflex. The sight he was met with teamed with the breathless little whimper had Bucky's mind fogging with arousal and it knocked him for six. He took a few steps back, trying to clear his perverted trail of thought to survey the boy before him very carefully as he came to a cautious, shaky stand. “Easy.”

Admittedly his voice came out hoarser than he'd of liked and it didn't go unnoticed.

“If you touch me I’ll,” Peter’s eyes were everywhere, “ _I’ll_ -,”

Bucky spots the other book Steve had mentioned, picks it up along with the one he originally came in for. “Forgive me if I’m not scared, peach.”

Peter’s nose stuck in the air to peer at what was being taken, attitude swelling in his chest against the pet name but wise enough to respect the strength he’d face if he dared. He gripped the underside of his desk to have some sort of foundation and tips his chin towards the item— two, items being gripped with ease by one singular hand. Christ.

“As I was trying to say,” Bucky answered the question before it was out, “Steve sent me here to get these from you, apparently he’s curious about the work you brought in earlier.”

Despite feeling the bruises forming around his wrists, Peter saw his eyes soften. That or he was delirious from waking up to a 6ft something man in his room and he’s in shock. “Seems to think you could be onto something.” He looked at Peter like he knew what he meant, holding it for a second longer before pointing to the door. “I’m going to move to go out the door now. You think you can keep from slinging your literature at me?”

He resisted raising his fingers to the burn around his throat, grip easing from underneath the desk. His breaths were coming shallow and honestly, it was embarrassing. His toes tingling for some reason. 

Bucky stared at him for too long. He didn't need an answer, permission. Bucky never needed anything to do what he wanted to do, but he waited. He waited and by God that look on his face, it was reducing him to a stammer. He looked wild, pupils blown like he didn't know where to put himself. Peter looked to the door, to the books, to the pull in the tight material of Bucky's vest straining across his chest. He cleared his throat, ducked his head to gain whatever composure or dignity remained and with doing so it became stone cold clear why he'd been staring.

Peter looked up but he'd gone, the door clicking on a soft close to seal him out. Everything had happened so fast and he didn't want to risk moving just yet. Unsure his legs would hold him upright. He didn't know what was more humiliating; the fact he'd been effortlessly overpowered or how he was half way to hard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be replying the same thing over and over to your gorgeous comments because I'm very fucking happy, so I'll say here to all: thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you. Seeing your reactions/what you like/what you don't like, feeds me. Seems you all actually do enjoy the slow burn too, which is advantageous because I like a meaty build and this one is no different but, it definitely lays the foundations to cue a bucket load of Bucky and Peter interaction in the next chapter.

Morning came, as it always does.

Truth be told morning was already there by the time Rogers and Barnes decided to call it _a night_ and ditch the research. Research, being a term used loosely as Steve was always too concerned with everyone else’s business and used Bucky as a sounding board, whilst the other, had the attention span of a passing train when it came to technology.

He wanted the skin tech, not for cosmetic cause, more a professional ramification. On one hand it was fruitless because the whole world knew his face, not a News Channel he hadn’t been featured on, a Newspaper stand that hadn’t donned his name across the headlines. But before you see the face, you see the arm. It was a passing thought between himself and the bottom of a beer bottle, perusing the pros of having his cybernetic limb take the appearance of a regular one and whether it was even possible. It had to not just be possible, but durable. Real skin likeness that’s not overly synthetic and not something that would rupture easily. Something also, that can be replenished efficiently and ‘taken on and off’ as needed, so to speak.

He was clueless, practically tech inept. Steve was a little more useful having been around longer, but not exactly fluent.

The night had dragged until the clock hit 3 and Bucky was coerced into staying put for the night, eventually taking residence in Bruce’s quarters. He didn’t feel it appropriate that he slept in the bed so settled for the couch and now, as he rolls himself up, he pays for it when his back protests.

“ _Shit_ ,” He’d never felt his age more getting up from a couch that felt more like a park bench.

Something clicked. Everything clicked and it took him a second to assess his surroundings through bleary, sleep sodden eyes. His phone was peeking out from beneath the cushion he’d used, checking it to see that, to his relief, it was 07:45.

He wanted up and out as early as possible. Didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally bumping into anyone on their morning routine, making small talk around mouthfuls of cereal and kettles steaming. He’d gotten the impression there was quite a domestic commodity and it wasn’t something Bucky could slip into with ease. With the motivation of that thought, ten minutes later he was up. He’d managed to take a piss and rinse his mouth with fluoride wash, thrice. Splash water onto his face. He was still a little dehydrated; exhaustion pulling at his eyes from not acquiring enough rest since the raid. Then he rifled through Bruce’s shelves to find what he hoped was deodorant, the heady balloon of fragrance it left had Bucky coughing into his fists for about twenty seconds after.

“God damn.” He grumbled silently to himself, tousling his hair as he clicked open the door and headed down the corridor. Maybe Nat had a point about a haircut.

There’d be no harm done if he helped himself to a coffee before leaving, the fog of minimal sleep not exactly a foreign feeling, however he’ll never say no to a cup of fresh Cuban. Strong, black, just how he liked it. He knew it was Cuban because he’d had to listen to Sam swim through a thirty minute conversation about why beans are better from Cuba, _not_ Kenya. It all tasted the same to Bucky, as long it hit his throat hot and bitter he’d be set.

The French press was a welcome surprise. Probably one of the few things he actually knew how to operate in a space so full of fancy tech. Seemed everywhere he looked things were made to do things for you. Voice command. Endless lines of stainless steel and digital monitors.

It was somewhere in between the two or three seconds of lifting the mug and turning around with it full to the brim, that Bucky saw him. He stopped dead, the jolt causing the _searing_ liquid to splash onto his hand.

Tony remained leant against the glass panel, watching with that gaze. The gaze that was so multifold it was useless trying to interpret.

“Careful, that might scar.”

Struck dumb, Bucky looked to the liquid dripping over his metal wrist. He watched as droplets shifted, hyper aware of the movement in his peripherals.

“Cap let you bunk on his couch last night?” He’d pushed from the panel and right up to the island where Bucky was still stood, allegedly frozen. He inspected the coffee, inhaled it a little and after a content hum, went about pouring himself some. “I told him no sleepovers at the compound.”

It was too leisurely. Bucky placed his cup down and it echoed, not buying into any of the nice guy act. He caught the towel thrown at him just in time and patted his limb down, followed by the couple drops on the floor.

Tony leant against the counter looking like he’d rather be absolutely nowhere else. Something too friendly in his demeanour, entirely too _relaxed_ being this close and sedentary with their proximity. Never mind the fact he’d helped himself to a fucking coffee.

“No.” Bucky answered at length, Tony observed him over the rim, waiting.

It was a test. Everyone knew Tony had full surveillance over every room in this complex, even the residential quarters. F.R.I.D.A.Y had access to everywhere but bedrooms and bathrooms for obvious reasons so Tony already knows exactly where he slept last night, knew he’d be right there this morning. So this was preempted, rehearsed. He was just waiting for Bucky to slip up.

Which means he’s also fully aware of Bucky’s late night visit to Peter’s.

“No?” Stark made a face after taking a sip. “Is this how they drink it in Russia? Jesus, pass me the sugar.” Bucky followed the general direction his flicking fingers were pointing, moved the bowl closer. “May as well stick my mouth over an exhaust.”

Bucky watched the cubes drop, one… two… he considered a third.

“I took Bruce’s r—,”

“Did you ask first?” There it is. The sharpness that Bucky was acclimatised to.

He really wanted out of there, but wasn’t going to usher out at the first sign of confrontation. He wouldn’t stick around to be spoken to poorly either. “Steve said it’d be alright.”

“Ah, of course. Steve Rogers, always hospitable.” Sometimes he just says things, to say them. To get it out there that he _knows_ , to gage a reaction, test the waters. All of the above things which Bucky hates. “How’s the arm? You got all the information you need?”

Bucky couldn’t even take a sip in peace. “Can we schedule an interrogation for post coffee?”

“Afraid not, snowflake.” Tony didn’t miss a beat. “You and Rogers were browsing the skin tech over at MIT, right? Weighing up your options. Caltech had some promising leads but of course, from the research Peter managed to do _for_ you, you already know MIT has the lead.”

Bucky looked up to the incriminating glare, two thick fingers looped through the handle. It felt brittle, like it would snap and cut him open if he held it any tighter. The pain would feel like a pinprick, a kitten lick in comparison to that stare. He said nothing.

“MIT, Mr Beck. A name you’re familiar with?” Stark took a sip, motioning with his hand. “ _Fond_ of, even. Only thing is he doesn’t exactly jump at the idea of meeting just anybody. He’s a busy man, practically booked out. It’d be pretty difficult for anyone to get a wedge between his schedule but you see the thing is, Mr Barnes— do you know what the thing is?”

Mr Barnes, kept his stare word for word. Didn’t enjoy being patronised.

“The thing is, I’m not just anybody.”

 _Nah you’re an arrogant cunt_.

Bucky pushed back on a scoff and dragged his eyes back to his coffee, disinterested with the direction this was swinging.

“8PM tonight, Niko. Dinner date with Mr Beck.”

“Why?” Bucky was fast, unimpressed by his stunt.

“I know it’s barely 8:15 in the AM but you’re not that slow.” No, just didn’t trust the intentions of a billionaire with an agenda. “He wouldn’t agree to meet with anyone who wasn’t tied to someone of his,” The poignant repulsion in the pause was enough to turn their coffee cold, “ _tier_. As far as he’s aware we’re like this,” Stark crossed his fingers, “best buds. And it’s going to stay that way. As far as _he’s_ aware, I’m calling in a favour of the uncompromisable kind.”

Regardless of the temperature of his coffee, Bucky’s appetite had vanished. Turned to dust by the idea of being in any kind of debt to this man. He stood up to his full height, back twinging. “I don’t need your help in finding—,”

“You sure as hell don’t need Peter’s either.”

There was a sound from behind them, Wanda passing the corridor, but Tony was undeterred. Both by the intrusion and Bucky’s imposing size. He stepped forward and peered up. “I don’t know what you’ve done or how you’ve managed to do it but the kid is not, going to be your confidant.”

That, he couldn’t help but laugh at. “You’re shitting me.”

Tony prodded his chest, a bold move. “I’m serious. It’s no coincidence he’s coming home with stacks of textbooks, podcasts, a browser history suddenly overflowing with anything relating to skin simulation— however the _fuck_ , you managed to warm him up to you it ends, here.”

Bucky looked to his finger and wisely, Tony dropped it. “I’ve little interest in that speck of a human. He seems to suckle the biased teet of his mentor regularly so I wouldn’t worry about your pet’s loyalty.” Tony looked like he wanted to say something but refrained. “His books have nothing to do with me.”

Wanda was through now, anchored at the doorway as she spoke to someone— hidden, behind her.

Tony lifted his cup, “You take the dinner, liaise and leave the kid out of it.”

He left promptly, switching into normal Tony mode as he greeted Wanda good morning, made some quip about the coffee being made with compost and disappeared. She was vibrant towards the Soldier, made the small talk he’d dreaded but he was too tired, too _wired_ , to pay enough attention. His coffee was thrown down the drain and he excused himself politely.

*

“So this whole Casa del Avenger situation you got going on—,”

“It’s just a compound, Ned.” Peter corrected, looking over his shoulder as they crossed the street and headed towards the pick up point. “It has room enough for everyone, temporarily or permanently. For now it’s just,” He shrugged, adjusting his collar, “it’s just safer for me I guess. Practical.”

“And you’re sure Mr Stark is cool with me coming over?”

Peter wanted to roll his eyes. He often forgot the formality that came with the idea of Tony, forgot how he was once nervous and intimidated around him. Still is, sometimes, with some things. But the exclusivity and novelty has mostly worn off. “Yeah, he’s cool.”

Ned and MJ were about the only people Tony was _cool_ with coming to the compound. Made it clear they were to stray nowhere beyond the residential quarters if he wanted to keep the privilege of having his friends round and Peter understood that crystal clear. The importance of maintaining as much normality in his abnormal life as possible was high priority to him.

Distracted by hunger and lured by the _scent_ , the boys stopped off at a little store tucked between a dry cleaners and a pizza joint to grab some pretzels. Only just completing their orders they were tumbling back out at speed, Peter slapping more money than needed on the counter after the brash beep from the car just outside.

After about five minutes of a serene journey, munching happily, Ned asked.

“So what did you want to tell me?”

Peter had been waiting for it. Prayed it would’ve come a little later than sooner. “Not here.”

Confused by his lowered voice, like they weren’t graced with the privacy of one of the safest vehicles New York City if not the USA had to offer, Ned scrunched up the paper from his snack and cocked his head.

“Ears.” Peter clarified, looking to the driver then back to Ned. He pointed to his ear then circled the air and it caught on fast, though only piquing his companion’s interest as to what this super secret thing was.

Thankfully, the gentle plea in his wide eyes got the message across.

Peter knew all the vehicles were bugged, a necessary safety precaution. Or so Tony had said. If he were to stumble across this conversation by accident or other— the boy shuddered, skin feeling sensitive, like he couldn’t fit in his own body for a second. He couldn’t risk it. That’s why they spent the rest of the forty minute ride in next to comfortable silence —Ned taking the code to secrecy a little _too_ seriously— and barrelled into the compound like a pair of children excited to get to their room and play.

They almost ran into Pepper on the way to the elevator, and Peter apologised. Apologised again when reminded not to run and settled down. They didn’t know where the burst of excitement came from, Peter shushing him through a fit of giggles when Ned begged him to tell him now.

Peter made a pit stop at the main lab then Cap’s room to check for the textbooks he and Bucky had taken the night before, but nothing.

Finally reaching the safety of Peter’s four private walls and after Ned had stopped geeking out over the design of the place, the subject cued its breach. Peter had thought on it all night. Fell back to sleep for a short three hours after his mind was being too loud to relax. He’d thought of nothing else all morning in class, zoning out during the lecture. Even googled: _how to trick your brain into stop thinking about something._ Social science wasn’t his forté.

But now it was here and he had to relay it out loud, he’d suddenly forgotten the English language. Nevertheless.

“ _And he saw it?_ ”

Peter nodded, “Yeah.”

“And he said nothing.” More of a statement than a question.

He shook his head, “Nope. Just left before I had chance.” Something he was grateful for, in actuality.

“So this means… so you’re _gay_ , gay?” On anyone else it would’ve been offensive. “Like I thought you were figuring it out, but this means you’re _actually_ gay.” Ned was nodding, to nothing but his own thoughts it seemed, a one sided conversation Peter was not a party to as he simply gaped. “That’s pretty awesome.”

As sweet as his support was, regardless of putting a label on his sexuality he was really missing the important point here.

“ _I don’t know what I am_ ,” The word, _virgin_ , kept replaying over and over in his head, “But it was _him_ , Ned. Of all people I could’ve gotten a random boner over it had to be _him_.” Peter’s body went limp as he flopped into the desk chair, a small groan as he relived the look in Bucky’s eyes all over again.

“I don’t think it’s random.”

“What’s not random?” His mind doubled up, swivelling his chair.

“Mh, being aroused by an older man.”

Peter winced, “Please never say aroused again.”

Ned continued, “Peter this could be potentially very detrimental to any relationship you want to build with him—“

“Thanks man.” Problem shared, problem _not_ halved.

“— _or,_ it could be the potentially very important ice breaker to the exact relationship you secretly want, with him.”

“What?” He felt like he had nothing else to offer but complete confusion, but he just, “ _What?”_

“They say the best loves start out as enemies.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s friends,” Now Peter was missing the point, “ _And even so—_ we’re not enemies, exactly. I don’t know. He’s like,” He’s a scientist, math was his strong point, “fifteen years older than me? No, Ned. No it doesn’t— it’s not like that.”

It felt like white noise had dropped over his body, every inch of his skin prickled with heat and twitched like it was standing to attention from every nerve, overstimulated and entirely overwhelmed. Ned looked like he had it all figured out and if Peter was doing his math right, he wanted to shut the conversation down pronto. He knew his cheeks were hot which only meant one thing and he wasn’t going to sit there and be the victim of something he couldn’t comprehend. “I think the pretzel’s gone to your head.”

“I think you’re in denial.” Ned was grinning, crossing his legs atop the mattress.

Peter stretched out, twisted in his chair and stood up albeit a little too fast as the corners of his vision blurred. He decided it was high time to drop the topic for now and look for those books in here. “Just forget it, there’s no way he’ll say anything anyway he hates me. I was just,” Nothing on his desk, “embarrassed. I guess.”

He was up on his tiptoes and stretching to scan the top shelf, making the cuffs of his checked shirt pull back and reveal the crimson marks above his wrists; right where Bucky had restrained him not 14 hours ago. They didn’t occur much to the boy who had been tracing them idly for most of the morning, knowing they’d pretty much disappear by the next morning. Ned however.

“What—,” Peter turned at what sounded suspiciously close to a shutter sound and beep, “what’re you doing?”

Lowering the camera from his face, Ned looked at the image appear on screen. “I’m doing you a favour.” He brandished the thing like it cost mere pennies and Peter watched with raised brows. “Documenting your first lover’s tiff.”

He didn’t follow, just waited for the explanation.

“I knew there’d be a pretty neat mark after you said he pinned you like that but dude,” Ned zoomed in to get a look at the faint bruising, “MJ was right.”

Again _what?_ “ _Huh?!_ ”

“I told her what happened, she gives it a month.”

“A month for _what_?”

It was on odd time to notice the door wasn’t fully shut, Peter’s attention drawn to the gap all of a sudden. He was a blushing mess at the insinuation of his friends and no words were coming to his tongue. He hadn’t even had chance to see MJ yet and Ned had shared it like gossip, talking about him and Bucky like it was something—

Ned raised a finger. “I’d like to formally adjust my statement about how cool it’d be to be killed by him, to how cool it’d be to be _fu—_ ,”

“Dude I _beg_ you don’t finish that sentence.”

Now it’d really hit a weird spot. The conversation was going to be rough enough, explaining the unexplainable incident to his best friend but now his best friend seemed to be encouraging the whole cataclysmic and quite inappropriate idea of sexual tension of any kind.

“Do you think he’d even know how to do it?”

No pause would’ve been long enough to ease the discomfort, but that was not a sentence Peter was primed for. “Do what?”

He was completely detached from the look on his friend’s face that was telling him he should probably start talking about anything _but—_ “Sex.” Innocently, a beep sounded from the device between his hands.

Peter nearly recoiled from the word, the concept, the _sound_. This wasn’t supposed to be the way the discussion went and now he was wading knees deep in images and thoughts he’d not prepared for. All of which was lost on Ned as he were invested in the snapshots on that damn camera.

“He’s over a hundred years old I think he’s got the hang of it.” Jesus.

“But,” There was truly no end to Ned’s naive curiosity, “he wouldn’t have had time to hook up since being in and out of ice for all those years. Unless he was instructed by Hydra to catch a booty call it’s—,”

“Jesus Christ _Ned_.”

“I’m just saying,” He was waving his camera around again, “the last time he probably had that sort of freedom was way back when, you know? You think it’s like learning to ride a bike and you don’t forget or…”

Brilliant, Peter was expected to complete the end of that ‘or.’ He adored Ned from the inside out but sometimes wondered if he had the voice inside his head that tells the majority of people to stop, or whether it was a constant loop of whistling and green lights. Peter heaved a stack of books from the top shelf, nearly toppling over from the stretch.

“ _Sh—_ ow,” He sucked where he’d caught his thumb, “Nuh uh,” Shook his head, “I don’t think the physics of sex has changed much since the 40’s.”

“But do you think—,”

“Ned, seriously. I’m sure he’s more than capable at finding his way around my body.” Peter flapped, “ _A_ , body. Anybody.” He’d said the wrong thing in front of the wrong person. “Whoever or whatever he uh, sleeps with. Pretty sure he’s adequate,” Felt like he needed to clear his throat enough times until it bled, “Can you just— please focus all that curious energy into helping me find my books?”

“Books?”

“ _Book_ s,” Two of the three which Bucky’d came in and taken, “the books that started this whole thing.”

Ned seemed to understand then, letting go of the teasing he had ready to fire on the tip of his tongue. He knew Peter wouldn’t rest until he’d found them, rightfully having a stigma about any property that didn’t belong to him being in safe, accessible places at all times. Even if it was just a couple of library textbooks.

The boys spent the better half of ten minutes turning Peter’s bedroom upside down, just incase someone had put them back in there wrong. Incase they’d been moved, anything that could explain why they weren’t in the lab or Cap’s room.

“I don’t know, maybe they’ve just been left somewhere—,”

“You don’t understand, they wouldn’t. Steve wouldn’t just _leave_ them somewhere for someone,” Tony, “to find. If they’re not in here then I’m— I’m-,”

Four rhythmic knocks.

“Peter?”

Tony.

Ned shoved the camera beneath the sheets like it were evidence and stood up straight. Peter skimmed the room to check everything was alright like he’d left something, done something, looking for signs of _something_. What was he even looking for? He felt all out of sorts when he replied in a squeak. “Yes?”

*

There was very little that could rustle Bucky, despite being quiet and made of 50% dry wit the assumption that he’s grumpy with anger issues, really couldn’t be further from the truth. Well, for the majority of the time anyway. Steve has always said there’s a better outlet for those _feelings_ like therapy, or meditation and he’d just laugh humourlessly, swear that once he’s grown bored of his method he’ll give it a go. His method, being working himself to a pulp in the boxing gym Steve privately hires for them. A discrete basement joint, local to his city apartment and convenient enough for Bucky to slip into sweats and a cap, undetected.

There was very little that could rustle Bucky, but Steve prodding about when he knows he should probably leave him to it, is one of them. He’d been there for an hour and fifty minutes already, ran himself hard enough to feel like his lungs were full of glass, worked the bar until his prosthetic limb snapped it out of frustration and was now happily in the middle of punching some leather when his pal had arrived to interrogate him about the dinner date.

“So this is a success,” Steve was circling from behind him, observing his friend beat the shit out of a 200lb bag, “this is exactly what you need. He’s the best in the business next to Tony.”

Chest heaving, Barnes tips his chin towards him. “Since when were you a critic?”

“Just saying.” Fondness swelled in his chest, but it was extinguished when fists starting pulverising the bag again.

“He talks a lot like Stark,” The sweat from his back was seeping through his shirt, “fancy words and sarcasm. Don’t like him.”

“Quentin?”

He delivered a hard blow, “—Yeah.”

He wasn’t the first. Steve’d spoken to people, officials that have crossed paths with the professor from both ends and opinions were cut down the middle. “You don’t have to like him, just respect him enough to be thankful he’s willing to even prototype your request.”

Bucky was listening but it seemed as though he weren’t, too tied up in the knot forming in the pit of his stomach. The knuckles on his flesh hand were almost raw from over an hour of work and even though they’d be healing over in no time, it wasn’t easy to watch him hammer ruptured skin.

“What’s going on Buck?”

“Nothin’.”

Steve walked over to the bag and stepped in front of it and Bucky so _very nearly_ hit him in the stomach.

“ _Fuck_ Steve—,” The fair haired male seemed unfazed however, knew his trained reaction time would kick in, “what the fuck.” There was a small part of Bucky that made him actually want to hit him because the pestering was getting under skin. “Get off my back, just,” He caught his breath, “just wanted to let off some steam.”

The raid was three days ago so that was bullshit from the get go; all and any steam Bucky could’ve possibly needed to burn off had been, at the expense of the men still in hospital. Something had happened in the interim and he was keeping it from him. The only way to stop him from lashing out on the person or people responsible for whatever it is is to work himself in repetition, to absolute exhaustion for hours. He wasn’t _angry._ He didn’t have anger issues. But Hydra’s venom had catalysed that part of him.

“The only reason Stark put me up with him was to stop Peter from getting close—,”

Steve was about to turn around and unhook the punching bag, stalled. “Stop what?”

“The stuff he was reading up on, all that stuff we looked at, what you said,” Bucky was really bad at explaining these types of things, “you told me he only had those books because of me, for whatever fucking reason he feels the need to interfere and help me.”

Steve didn’t know whether to interject or just let this roll because it was rare to see him so affected, so bent over something to a point he _babbled._ Bucky doesn’t ramble. He’s concise. “Right.” Steve’s eyes dropped down his length. “And you’re mad because…”

He barely moved, didn’t really have to make any physical advances for those eyes spoke enough. “Because I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do.”

“You’re an army man, Buck.” Steve unhooked the bag quickly and threw it to the side, “You’re used to being given orders.”

The flinch in the man’s expression made Steve almost regretful, the implications flickering towards a cold part of him he didn’t mean to surface. It was pushed aside though, Bucky going to collect his gear from the bench as it was clear he wasn’t about to get to the end of this session without Father Steve coaxing him down.

He pointed at Steve. “I didn’t ask for that kid to stick his nose in.”

“And you’re upset because he won’t be able to now?” He knew he was pushing his luck, Bucky nearly ripping the threads in his hoody as he pulled it on. His companion suppressed a smile. “You’re warming to him.” He knew him well enough that if something elicited this reaction it was worth pursuing. His softer side made him the man Steve’d always respected after all. “You always have had a thing for small, defenceless little things that need a bit of guidance, huh.”

 _Defenceless_ , wasn’t a word Bucky felt applicable towards the boy. More inexperienced and loose. Naive. Dangerously innocent.

“I’ve no desire,” He was already leaving, cap secured on his head, “to do anything to or for that boy.”

Taking two steps at a time, Bucky called back, “If you can avoid the subject of spiders for the rest of the evening you’re welcome to join me for dinner, Captain.”

*

Two days later Bucky was back in DC, leaving SHIELD headquarters when he got a text from Natasha.

_N: ‘Dinner tonight at the compound?’_

There’s no reason she would invite him over to a place she knows he’s unwelcome. Especially as of late. He squinted, turning out of the elevator at speed, knowing there was motive—

_N: ‘Peter’s been lonely for a couple days so he’s playing chef for us :)’_

Bucky looked up to security who immediately let him through, tapping out a reply.

_‘Tater tots and alphabetti spaghetti? Definite pass.’_

_N: ‘Come onnnnn’_

_N: ‘You and Bruce can bond some more’_

_N: ‘I think he likes you more than me’_

Bucky laughed, nodding to a familiar face as he passed through the throngs of people in the foyer. A few stared as he went, hanging whispers and baited breaths. He doesn’t notice anymore, simply walks through it. He sent Natasha another refusal and looked up to see his car waiting outside.

*

Three days from there, Sam just cut to the chase. “Yeah so I was thinking we could get together for drinks and a game night this week.”

Just ahead of him Bucky was peering at the rows of fresh vegetables, pricing up the carrots before he bagged them. “Define, we.”

“Man you know, Cap, Natasha, Bruce, You.” Sam threw a turnip in the air and caught it, bagged it. “Peter and me.”

It was almost haunting how unreadable Bucky’s face was then, Sam holding his breath trying to interpret a fight or flight. He didn’t break character though, giving him back as good as he received. “What?”

“They put you up to this.”

“Define _they_ ,” Sam mocked and nearly walked smack into Bucky’s bicep, who was staring down at him.

Bucky continued along the aisle, “I agreed to you tagging along on my grocery trip so you could show me some recipes—,”

“Shut the hell up you missed me.” He clapped his shoulder, walking around him to pluck some garlic off the hanger. “It’s okay to miss me, I have that effect on people. I’m addictive. My energy is off the charts, it’s been two weeks and you’re having withdrawal symptoms so what does Winter Princess do?” Sam was thriving off the look on that passerby’s face just then. “Well what else do Princesses do? They spit out their dummies and act all tough like you _just. need. some. grub._ when really?” Almost poetically, he dropped some onions in the basket. “You jus’ need some _love._ ”

Needless to say the drinks and game night, didn’t go ahead.

*

Days had pushed by and nothing had come to light over those textbooks. Five days had passed and Peter had zero classes for three of them, leaving him to wander and explore the compound by himself, studying for four straight hours each day and trying to make plans with MJ as Ned was out of town visiting grandparents. Turns out she _did_ have classes and was otherwise engaged so he was stuck with himself and despite him being an only child and quite comfortable in his own company, he was growing quite restless.

He’d also been kept audaciously under even tighter ropes by Tony, who’d given him a whole speech about something from SHIELD. He retains most information sent his way but this time, he’d only managed to absorb half of it. If he were honest he didn’t really care much because not being let in on the full story unless it was absolutely necessary was standard procedure. Used to being treat like a child. He turned 19 this year so his child clock wasn’t going to stop ticking any time soon. If things were to carry on like this he’ll be 35 and still under lock and key surveillance.

_Bucky is somewhere around 35._

Peter turned in his bed, huffing at the ceiling. “Stupid.”

He blindly felt the device around his wrist, tapped it to acquire his web shooter. Almost too eagerly he slapped around his night stand for the various items littered there— water bottle, Chewbacca paperweight, bookmark, book, unidentified bottle cap. Took the cap and threw it in the air, shot his web at it so it instantly attached to the ceiling.

Giggling, he continued this until he’d cleared both night stands of their possessions and his ceiling looked like a jumble sale.

_But when was he born?_

“Okay,” Peter sat up with a head of hair stuck out at odd angles, looking for absolutely anything to do.

The unfortunate reality was that being stuck to his own devices for the past five days with minimal classes and no one _really_ around the compound at sociable hours, means he’s exhausted every solo person activity. His fists curled in the bedsheets, wiggled his toes against each other.

Resigning to his own will, Peter webbed his phone from the desk and seized it. The sound was satisfying, but his tummy was turning in circles. There was shame and excitement bubbling through his veins as he dismissed the google results for: _How to trick your brain to stop thinking about something_ and instead searched: _James Buchanan Barnes’ birthday._

Peter was hunched over while he waited for the little bar to load the page. His tummy growled for hunger that time and he looked up, thought he could maybe head out for some lunch quickly— the first thing that loaded was a thumbnail of Mr Barnes, with the tag line: ‘The Winter Solider’. Peter studied the screen with wide, focused eyes and stretched out onto his front.

_So he’s a Pisces._

From all the things MJ had told him about astrology, Mr Barnes did not fall into any of the typical traits of those. Still, he pushed on and realised his birthday had not long passed, wondering how he most likely spent it. Probably with Nat and Steve. Sam too. Did he have any family or friends left? It states a little lower that he has three younger siblings so there’s at least a possibility the bloodline had been carried on. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Bringing his legs up to sway behind him, Peter pressed the ‘images’ tab and chewed the inside of his cheek.

There were several candid shots when he’d been caught by various news reporters, always avoiding the lens, never stopping to talk. It was pretty much a collage of Bucky looking confused and disinterested, jaw always tense, lips set in a straight line. Only when they managed to get a front shot. There were some blurry freeze-frames of videos that had appeared on the news with him in it. Steve was in a lot.

“What the…” Peter passed a thumbnail further down of what looked like a _selfie_ , but wasn’t a selfie. Looking closer it was clear Bucky had stopped to take a picture with a regular civilian. A _fan_ , if you please. He doesn’t know why but he can’t stop staring at it.

Distracted, Peter pulls a pillow down beneath himself so he could cushion his elbows, went back to staring at the picture. Seemed it was the only one of its kind. He was a whole head above the girl, tall as always, broad, but the _smile_ on his face was most jarring; it lit him up like he hadn’t really witnessed up close before.

Allowing himself thirty more seconds of scrolling his thumb hovered over a particularly low quality image. He’d seen it before, many times. It was one of the most popular searches and Peter doesn’t really know why he clicks on it but there he is, practically pressing his nose against the screen as he _stares_ at the image of the man restrained to a chair. There were five images leaked from the Hydra files three years ago and they were all similar, just different angles. Bucky restrained with metal shackles, shirtless. No facial recognition clear enough but the definition of his body, was.

Peter lingered over the mounds of his pectorals, how he was clearly sunken into the chair yet still managed to look too big for it. He pushed his pillow further down beneath himself, wiggled to accompany it.

“Sergeant… Barnes…” He read a caption quietly, situated below an old headshot from the army. It was black and white, almost tonal yellow. Old but perfectly remastered so you could almost see the wet of Bucky’s sharp, paralysing eyes.

He’d aged well. For over 100 years old, he’d done pretty nicely.

He pressed his thighs together, hissed softly as he applied painful pressure on the stirring he didn't want to acknowledge. He thinks how photogenic he was back then, in his early twenties, still refined yet built like a tank. Maturing had treat him well, like all the softened parts of him were just waiting to blossom into the fully grown man he now was, seasoned, skilled and strong. 

Peter locked his screen and just laid there for a minute. A wave of heat dowsing his body. He didn’t want to close his eyes because when he did that, there was the restrained _Winter Soldier_ imprinted into the backs of his eyelids. Dangerous. Every time he blinked it was like his mind was playing tricks, giving him a showreel of dense muscle and a metal arm.

Squeezing his pillow he pressed his face into it and groaned quietly, leg hitching to relieve pressure from the uncomfortable tightness in his groin. A silken voice and large hands— “ _Oh_ ,” His muscle memory betrayed him, Bucky’s drawl in his ear again, could almost feel the tension around his wrists and God Peter didn’t bank on whining into his pillow this afternoon at the thought of being manhandled.

“Oh fuck…” He whispered like someone would hear. “ _Fuck_.” Like Mr Barnes, would hear.

He wanted him to. If he caught him swearing enough times in his presence again who knows where that could land him? Maybe face down again.

The thought had Peter biting his pillow, cotton steadily dampening with spit as he slowly rolled his hips against the bottom of it, nowhere near enough friction there at all. The phone was discarded and he lifted his hips, clumsy, slender fingers navigating his zipper, popped the button and shoved his hand down the front of his underwear.

Peter _mewled_ into the buffer of the pillow. It barely contained the sound as he realised how sodden his briefs were already. The wet sounds his precum provided were embarrassing and tinged his ears pink as he pushed his bottom up higher despite them, pants stretched around mid thigh.

If he shimmied out of his underwear he’d be fully exposed but Peter felt dirty enough, face down into his pillow, beating his cock at the thought of being pinned like that. Just like that.

His phone vibrated and his hand slowed to correct the imagery in his head, distracted for only a second until blue eyes were trained on him again. 

A soft gasp sucked in past fair lips as his wrist twisted and his balls tightened.

Peter couldn't mute his thoughts, focused on his age more and more. Ned’s _stupid question—_ couldn't say it then, but he’d be good. Peter was sure Bucky would know exactly what he wanted from his partner and knew how to get it.

He definitely knew how to handle Peter and didn’t care to be kind about it either, not like everyone else in his life who tiptoed around him, kept him wrapped in cotton wool. No, Bucky was different. Bucky was harsh reality, taboo, explicit and _God_ Peter wouldn't stand a chance. 

His thighs were beginning to vibrate as the euphoric wave rolled lower in his stomach, curling up inside his navel. It was all happening embarrassingly fast. He needed to feel heavy, expert hands on him again, wanted to be made to feel as small as he really was for the first time. Peter arched his back, tightened his hand. Faint squelching and his muffled moans the only thing to hear, curious what Bucky would do if he heard this right now, if he could _see_ him right now, would he sit and watch him fall apart? Or would he help him get off with thick fingers, much bigger than his own.

He’d think he were pathetic for getting this worked up. 

_Dumb baby_.

"D-dumb baby-,"

Just like last time he’d call him a dumb baby and that’s exactly what he was.

" _D_ -,"

Needed his big hand to suffocate his dumb baby sounds right now because he was whimpering, high pitched, desperately trying to _restrain_ volume but God he was so close. So, so close. He mushed his head to the side, mouth lax, face pink when his breath caught on a silent moan and he came into the palm of his hand, _tiny_ sounds hiccuping from his throat as he worked through a deafening climax. Cum was overspilling through his fingers and it felt _sticky._ Very warm. His navel felt bruised, balls tight to his body from the unexpected speed which it’d all happened as he could do nothing but lay there, catch his breath, in the afterglow of his orgasm. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So badly want to reply to each individual comments, god damn. You're all so sweet and motivating I love, love, love it when you guys tell me all this stuff, I get so hyped from every single kudos and comment; I died a little at the "w*t" ones but the need to flourish this story had a bitch resurrected. Changed this chapter a bit! Was meant to include more B&P time but I switched up at the last minute. The next one is ready and will be posted TOMORROW which will have all that Bucky & Pete :) good :) stuff :) enjoy Padawans. (Also, MIT is closer to NY in here, location freestyle I guess).

It wasn’t going to become regular routine this tight seal he’s created around the kid’s freedom, it was just temporary. Feels permanent, but will lift when Tony’s satisfied Peter’s not only fully developed his own sense of being, mastered his own strength and capabilities to a place where he doesn’t need guidance, but can absolutely one hundred percent be a good judge of character. Because it's important. You had to be savvy to survive and to put it kindly the boy had a terrible inclination towards naivety and saw things through rose tinted glasses half the time; he would give people second chances whereas Tony’d learnt a long time ago that morally stringent, philosophical way of life sometimes only ended up being painfully paradoxical.

There was _some_ credit due. You don’t grow up in New York and not have an ounce of street smart wit about you. Peter had that, and it’s what was so endearing. He was intelligent. But, not to belittle the tragic losses he’d endured, he hadn’t been tainted by the kind of pain, the raw evil, that leaves you amongst the bitter throes of pessimism where Tony’d spent most his life. He was hopeful still and Tony wanted to preserve as much of that as he could whilst chipping away at that innocent bubble.

Turns out there was no easy or right way to do that.

“Before we log off, F.R.I.D.A.Y, run me stats on the turbine Bruce set up.” He wasn’t expecting much, “Don’t make me cry.” Looking at the figures in front of him he dreaded listening to the voice notes Banner had attached to his email.

She listed the running times, correlating with last week’s and Tony cradled his head in his hands preparing for the worst but, it didn’t happen. He looked at the prototypes on his screen as she asked for anything else and decided he may not need the full bottle of wine Pepper’d bought in after all.

“No, no, that’s it.” He stood up, closing down all active tabs when he came to Peter’s college file, “actually—,”

“What is it Boss?”

He felt an _increment_ amount of remorse. “Show me Peter’s search history from the last week, just like last time.”

He waited for it. The judgemental pause in her response was enough.

“You want me to give you Peter’s internet browser history.”

She sounded like Pepper. “Yes, I know— yes. Please. Last time I promise.” He downed the last of his water. “For now.”

“Sure thing, downloading the data now.”

Tony muttered a thanks, looking at the time. Pepper was cooking and he didn’t want to give her any more reasons to shout at him today, they were on seven and counting, being late in their own home would be the eighth. Within seconds Tony’s screen was alight with line after line of recorded internet history from Peter’s cell phone and laptop device. He should’ve asked for her to highlight all the relevant information he was really concerned about but he didn’t want to piss two women off in one day, so he scoured the list manually, typed in a couple of key words.

A few results were returned but not nearly as much as it had done previously.

Having the books retuned to the library was step one, giving Peter a pep talk about remaining focused on his current projects without being specific was step two, and step three was monitoring. Whether that was invasion of privacy or not was just necessary evil. Like he’d said: _temporary measures._

His phone rang at the same time he saw the one thing he didn’t expect.

Pepper’s name was on the screen and he took a moment to answer it, staring at the results like he could erase them if he did it long enough. Bucky’s face, was everywhere. Web results, Image results— the browsing times recorded next to each search. Heat expanded around Tony's collar. He minimised the screen and slammed the drawer to his left, shut.

“Sweetheart, I know. I’m on my way I can smell it and you, from here.”

*

Granted, the college’s reputation was a prestigious one and it wasn’t unusual for there to be guest speakers who frequented appearances here; Mr Stark being a favoured one. But to Peter’s knowledge there were none scheduled for any department, not until early Summer anyway if he’s recalling the timetable right. Squinting up at the pillars he zips across the road and adopts a peculiar gallop in-between the crowds milling around the entrance. To his right, there were two SUVs, the blacked out carriers Peter’s used to being ferried around it and to this left, the same along with a saloon type car. Jaguar. “Stark?”

No, he had Audi.

Surely the billionaire wasn’t _this_ narcissistic to require an entourage anyway.

The crowds were dispersing with excited chatters that Peter tried to casually tune into without making it obvious but the frequency was too high. There was too much going on, too many overlapping conversations that made it difficult to focus, so he pushed on up the stairs, feeling around for his phone in his pocket.

Taking the steps was a learnt habit by now; Peter’s coordination of the steps, doorway and entrance lobby welded into his memory that he could do it on autopilot. Which was useful when he needed to text MJ like right now, asking if she knew what the _hell_ was goin—

“ _Hey_ —,” A girl almost screeched, throwing him a disgusted look, “watch it.”

“Sorry, sorry I—,” She was already walking away with someone, “sorry.” Turns out he may not be fully awake as he thought he was.

Setting his phone to vibrate, Peter pocketed it and pushed through the passing students, everything a little busier than usual. Definitely because of the mystery vehicles outside. There was _definitely_ someone here and if Peter wasn’t half asleep at this ungodly hour he might feel more inclined to go figure out who, alas, not only were he under rested he was also running late and Mr Beck didn’t enjoy late arrivals. He was cool enough, the type of professor who you felt you could talk to as a friend without the cringeworthy effort of him _trying_ to be your friend; there was a natural ease to his demeanour which made it near impossible to take a dislike to him. Plus, he was never one to draw much attention to his riches or status in the industry either and people were naturally inclined to modesty among talent.

Peter always wondered why he part-timed as a professor when he could devote full time to his work. Just another thing that made it difficult to find fault he supposed; he gave back.

He only had this one lecture today and with his current exhaustion level, was grateful for it.

Plodding towards the double doors, his confusion was doubled upon opening them. The room, as far as he could see, was entirely empty and the board was off. One glance back at his phone and he saw he was only _just_ on time; 8:12. Three minutes until the lecture was supposed to begin. He even checked he had the correct room, the correct time. Was he even on the right day? Three hours of sleep will do that to you.

“Ah,” He whipped round at the familiar voice, “Parker!”

Professor Beck.

“Sir,” He felt at a loss, “Sir, what’s happened to class?”

Mr Beck wasn’t on his own, he was followed by two men donned in black suits and a lady with spectacles sat so low on her nose their use was surely retired, “You didn’t get the email?”

The large hand smacked atop his bony shoulder jostled his body. “H— uh…” Had he? “I don’t think so, no.”

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” His face was overly animated with eyes a crystal clear blue that wasn’t dissimilar to another, “it’s been cancelled. You hauled ass for no reason.”

Even through fatigue, Peter’s senses were fluttering about his body. Something was off. Despite himself, Peter huffed out a laugh that was more regretful than humorous; he could’ve been in his bed right now, hidden beneath a warm cover blissfully _non existent_ between plush, squidgy, pillows. He tried for optimistic but it came off more petulant.

“Oh, okay great. That’s—,”

“Actually,” Mr Beck was looking at him like he were sizing him up, his thumb rubbing what was meant to be a comforting circle into his clavicle but Peter felt it more stale, “as you’re here, how’d you like to join me in a little something? Earn yourself a little extra credit?” He was already swivelling the boy around to begin walking. “You interned for Stark, right? I read something about you and that Morely kid.” He was smiling at him, still coddling him close with that strong arm. “Very impressive. I’ve been thinking about adopting a student to tag along with the project and you being here today, well. It’s made the decision very easy.”

He was being swept away both physically and conversationally, trying to answer and thank the professor when he held a door open for him. He waited, awkwardly as the unnamed entourage followed— bodyguards? Assistant? The lady was tapping away on her tablet, barely bothering to look up as she strutted just in front of the two men who were built like they were ready for battle; expressionless and unabashedly blunt about getting Peter to _move._

“Don’t mind them,” Peter was still being guided down the next corridor, an elevator ahead, “they’re a precaution, just pretend they’re not there. I do.” Peter thought he was joking but looking up at him, there was no sign of jest.

“I uh, yeah. I interned yeah.” Peter slowed before the elevator doors, feeling claustrophobic already. “I still sort of, do. D-different department, I work in—,”

Peter was getting warmed into the cover story, his usual spritely enthusiasm just kicking into second gear when he was interrupted.

“And _that_ is why I know you’re going to love this.”

He was still no wiser on what _this_ was. Mr Beck continued, standing close to Peter in the elevator. “Stark wouldn’t intern just any hopeful student, always knew you were special Pete.” He nodded, slotting some gum between his teeth. He offered some but Peter kindly declined, the weird tingling in his joints escalating the higher they got.

“Thank you, Sir, but what exactly,” The doors beeped open, “…what is it?”

Mr Beck let him walk first again, coming up next to him with a hand on his back.

“A high profile client,” He explained like it was revolutionary, like he’d explained it time and time again and wasn’t bothered to do it many times more, “if you can keep it hush hush amongst your peers for now, I’d like your input. You must be exposed to a _lot_ over at Stark Industries, so if you’d like Peter, if you’re willing,” They stopped outside a long blackened glass window, two doors of similar suit, “I’d like you to join me and put that brilliant brain of yours to good use. You can count it towards your final project and use what you’ve learnt to create your own side product.”

He talked a _lot._ Peter was still very tired, still not one hundred percent sure this whole thing wasn’t a very lucid dream nevertheless he nodded or at least thought he did, smiling back at Mr Beck’s charming features, eyes _still_ kind, smile genuine. “Yeah, I mean,” He looked towards the door, only now realising it had ‘Professor Beck’ stained in silvery white print, “honoured, Sir. Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent. Just, keep your cool. The guy’s a little moody— actually you may have crossed his path before over at Stark, but,” He nodded at the two bodyguards who stepped before them to open the door, “that’s the part I need you to keep hush hush about.” He tapped the underside of Peter’s chin and he was far too _fatigued_ to flinch away from the over-friendly gesture. “Don’t want any jealousy do we.”

Peter’s chin was still raised a fraction when the fingers left and the doors opened. Mr Beck was just like that. He hadn’t really seen him interact much with other students but, he was just friendly. Peter blinked his way back into the present and entered the office. He jumped as the door was shut close promptly behind him by one of the two men now stood guarding the doors, squinted at the blinding light from the long window on the far side. It definitely didn’t help his sore eyes.

“You know, Sir—,” He raised a hand to block out some of the rays piercing the room, “this actually,” Could just make out the obnoxious size, the long desk, the plasma, the obscure lighting, “looks a lot like Mr Stark’s office.”

Mr Beck regarded him fondly, “Then that’s a compliment.”

Peter winced, nodding, “S’nice.”

“Draw the drapes please sweetie.”

For a moment Peter wondered who he was speaking to, blinking in every direction _but_ the window to avoid being temporarily blinded. Next thing he knew, the room was darkened enough for it to be comfortable. An AI. Also like Mr Stark. 

“Peter, lay your stuff on the desk.”

Half way through rubbing his eye, the urge evolved into wanting to punch it instead. He dropped his fist and looked up to the one person he did not see stood by the window. Must’ve been stood by the corner peering out or something because Peter would _know_ , Peter would’ve sensed him before he saw him.

“Mister Barnes.” They were shaking hands, _Mr Barnes_ only having an inch or so on him. Peter did not need to see this at this hour, not at this low level of brain power, not in front of his teacher. Not when the last time he technically saw him he had him bent over a desk.

“Bucky?” He blinked, sounded ridiculous and it only caused the stern look in Bucky’s features to harden. “Your hair?”

Of _all the fucking things to say._

“I meet a lot of Tony’s employees around HQ.” Bucky was explaining, the half smile looking pained as he let go of Mr Beck’s hand. “We’re friendly.”

Shit, of course. How could Peter be so stupid? He would never call any of Tony’s higher associates or the Avengers by their nicknames, maybe not even their first names if he were an employee never mind a mere intern. He definitely would not be calling Sergeant James Barnes _Bucky_ and comment about his fresh trim.

Thankfully, Bucky was effortlessly smooth everywhere Peter wasn’t (everywhere), his approach seamless as he pulled the chair out for Peter to join him in front of his teacher’s desk. There was lightning strung in his stare for a split second before he turned back to face the expanse of the desk where the professor was now situated. “Needed a trim,” Bucky ran a large, weathered hand over his short hair and explained as though Mr Beck had asked the question, “feels good.”

It took all corners of Peter’s puny functioning braincells to not reply with, _it looks it_ as he were sure every word he spoke would be held against him sooner rather than later. Mr Barnes’ hand was welded to the arm of the metal chair by the time he’d sat next to him, veins set, knuckles white. 

It dawned on him that he were still clutching his phone, bracketing his laptop to his chest like it was a bulletproof vest and Mr Beck reiterated for him to place both items on the desk.

“Sorry I just,” Nothing, “—sorry.”

Mr Beck berated him for apologising too much and Peter missed the glare Bucky issued the man on the back of it, something terribly vocal about it that Peter would’ve no doubt sunk back at the sight of if he hadn’t. A short buzz from the desk had both Bucky and Peter’s eyes darting towards it on instinct.

_MJ: ‘Your boyfriend, that’s who.’_

Mr Beck was talking and he should really be paying attention, they both should, but it vibrated again.

_MJ: ‘I don’t know why, but Beck never cancels a lecture so maybe it has something to do with him?’_

It took a moment of pretending to listen to whatever Mr Beck was now drawing up on the hologram _that he really should be listening to_ , to realise what she was saying. To remember, what he’d asked.

_‘Bunch of serious looking rides outside college, everyone’s kinda frantic. Are you here already? Who’s the VIP ? :/‘_

Peter’s stomach dipped, every morsel of his being feeling like it were caving in on itself as it dawned. He looked to Bucky whose brow was drawn a little tighter than usual. There was no way he couldn’t see that. He was a trained sniper, an _enhanced_ one at that, his eagle eye could track, pinpoint, _read_ things from distances that would be otherwise illegible to the naked eye.

God he hated Ned. He hated them both.

Panic flared in Peter’s gut and his pulse began hammering so loud he were convinced both men could hear it.

He risked another glance to the Soldier but he was focused on Beck, liquid eyes trained like stone as he flounced around now _two_ screens— when did he pull that one up? His phone lit up again and Peter was about ready to bodyslam it.

Tony.

 _Mr. Stark_ : _‘Class was cancelled. Want to explain why you’re not back at the compound?’_

It were always the least convenient times the boy forgets about the tracker. It’s in his suits, phone, laptop, he should be used to it by now and not have that weird feeling in his gut, akin to what he supposes a caged animal feels like. The phone was flipped over, placed flat on top of the laptop and pushed to the end of desk out of sight. Of everybody.

By the end of the meeting Peter had absorbed the last half of the information pretty well; he wasn’t convinced Mr Beck’s method was fool proof though but was going to reserve any comment until a later date. Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced either. His ideology over these _nano_ illusions being sturdy enough to not only resist damage but take on a life like form, was fascinating, truly awesome in its theory but the durability and reliability of it was still up for debate. He had questions bouncing around his head as to how a simulation could be better than a real life sheath, but again it was held until another day. Peter was just honoured to be there, to have been hand picked by chance by the professor and allowed to participate. Bucky, not so easily impressed. He was thankful for the professors time but didn’t quite lay his eggs in one basket just yet, not easily warmed to his charismatic nature as the wide eyed boy so obviously is.

Peter was fumbling with his phone, laptop cradled against his ribs while fast fingers tried to clear his brain enough to reply to Tony. Beck and Barnes shook hands. If the professor was caught off guard at the strength in his grip he didn’t show it, his ego too bulletproof to allow that. Before he could press send Bucky was talking and his name was brought to life on his accented tongue.

He looked up, “M— huh?”

“You’re due there today right?” Mr Barnes was looking at him smoothly, tipping his chin.

Where.

"Wh-,"

"May as well kill two birds and take you with me.”

Peter nearly dropped his phone. The compound. Why would he do that. That’s the _last_ thing he should be doing.

“Excellent,” The professor clapped his hands together, “alright perfect. Let me know what Sir Billionaire has to say about my proposals. I’m sure he’ll have some very helpful input.”

The emphasis on _helpful_ wasn’t a kind one, but Bucky nodded, Peter just looking between the two men simultaneously and no—no, now Beck was being weirdly formal to him and shook his hand as well. Told him he’d email him, or something. Peter wasn’t quite sure because his hearing had dropped to underwater conditions.

The boy watched as he disappeared back into his office, turned to Bucky but he was gone, already half way towards the elevator and Peter was being prompted by one of the bodyguards to do the same. The ride was excruciating. He was stuck in a fancy tin can with two heavily armed men and a nuclear murder weapon and couldn’t say a damn thing. The grip on his laptop was turning slippy from his palms clamming up, his phone still clutched in the other and all Mother of Hell he still had to reply to Mr Stark before his patience whittled.

Reaching the lobby was no friendly experience either as he was literally _escorted_ through the crowds alongside Bucky. He had to sail past his peers, all eyes burning into his skull as they pushed through, half of the people bustling forward to get a picture, half remaining at what they thought was a cautious distance. All efforts to come in contact with the Soldier were deterred by the bodyguards.

His shoulders looked real good in that leather jacket, Peter’d decided. He couldn’t bare to meet the eyes of anyone they passed so he were head down, eyes forward and Bucky was always right there as a fixed point so he couldn’t help but examine the detailing of his outfit. The dark brown jacket was a snug fit across the top, simple dark grey t-shirt doing nothing to elude from the dense muscle beneath. Black jeans, boots. His metal hand glinted in the sun as they descended the steps but then panic struck like a hot rod.

Paparazzi.

“Bu—Mister Barnes, Sir, _Mis_ —,” Bucky looked a mix of concealed rage and Godlike when he turned, “I can’t,” He shook his head towards the small crowd curb side with cameras at the ready. There were only a handful, but it were one handful too many. Those pictures would land in Tony’s lap within the hour and he didn’t want to explain it all, not yet.

The paps were squinting up to see if it were him, couple already looking through the lens to zoom in.

“Bucky—,” Peter whispered, scrambling down the few steps until he were stood only one above, eye-level.

“Quit the act, and get in the car.” It was obvious the _or else_ , was left unsaid.

He didn’t give a flying fuck about Peter’s reservations thus leaving the boy with a split second decision between the consequences of not following orders by an apparently furious Bucky, or risk being caught on camera and explaining himself to his mentor who has all but a restraining order over the soldier’s head.

Bucky was gone, beeped his car and was in. The bodyguards were warding off the cameras but they still flashed. Still crowded round the vehicle and Peter was moving before he could talk himself out of it.

“ _—scuse me_ , sorry can—,” Peter wiggled through, ducked an elbow, “‘scuse me—,” He yanked open the passenger side door and slammed himself into the seat. The bang on closing seemed to muffle the shouts outside the vehicle to a dull, satisfying din.

“Belt up.” Peter jumped at the voice but did exactly as he were told.

He was sure the man was less concerned for his safety and more so the mess he’d have to clean up if he ended up on his dashboard. The engine hummed to life beneath them and Peter clutched his laptop, ignoring another buzz on his hip. Definitely Tony. He’d see his location move anyway, it was fine. He’d see he were moving away from the Institute and back home. That’s if Bucky was truthful about his plans to take him back. He really hadn’t thought this through.

Bucky had his eyes everywhere but Peter, yet Peter couldn’t take his eyes off him. He felt like he at least had an excusable reason to now in the confines of his vehicle; had a reason to ogle the vein protruding from his neck as he strained to look back between them to check for oncoming traffic.

A pap chanced it and slapped a palm on the hood, Bucky practically growling. “Intolerable cunts.”

Peter could’ve yelped when Bucky hit the gas hard and the engine roared, causing the man to stagger back enough for him to lift off the break and pull into traffic.

“That was inten—,”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Never mind.

“What? Me?”

“By now you should've learnt playing dumb never ends well for you.”

Peter blinked, eyes welling up from the strange pressure in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I haven’t done anything wro—,”

They'd already stopped at a red light and Bucky leant into the centre console, looked at him. The last time he were this close it caused involuntary reactions, the last time he saw those eyes they were staring back at him through a screen before he used their memory to give himself his most intense orgasm to date. The blush which crept up his neck didn’t benefit the situation at all.

“Why were you in that room?”

“ _Because Mister Beck—_ ,”

His jaw was seized between a strong flesh hand, forced to look up at him. “Don’t _fucking_ lie to me.”

The grip was brutal. Small palms tried to counteract the force threatening to fracture his bones, Peter’s fingers wrapping around the thick forearm and _pulling_. His cheeks were smushed from the hold but he made an embarrassing plea of a sound. The laptop was nearly shucked from his knee when the car moved forward, Bucky letting go in turn to drive stick.

“I’m not _lying,_ ” Peter’s jaw ached, “Mister Beck found me in the hallway— he wasn’t—,” It really hurt, “the lecture was cancelled but I didn’t know, I didn’t check my emails I-I didn’t know so I was there and he just asked me if I wanted to come with him to some _meeting oh my g—,”_ The corner was taken at speed and Peter gripped his seat like it were his lifeline.

“Out of all the students he could’ve accidentally bumped into, huh.”

Peter was wedged into the corner of the seat, trying to get away from the man, creating as much distance it would allow. “ _I’m serious_ ,” He did his best to keep the chagrin from wobbling his voice, “I was worried about my grade for bio tech, I was falling behind massively—,” Peter’s face lit up, “that’s why Nat suggested it! She, she knows, _he_ knew I was struggling so he must’ve just wanted to help me out.”

Bucky laughed, but kept mute.

Peter was beginning to grow agitated over being branded a liar. Didn’t have the gall to argue too hard though, not yet.

“Why’re you so mad anyway?” Peter flexed his jaw, his nimble fingers tracing the shadow of much larger ones.

Metal gripped the leather wheel so hard it were a wonder the thing remained attached. Peter pushed.

“Do you hate me that much?”

“Grow the fuck up.”

Why, did he always feel so chastised around this man. The boy’s eyes stung with the effort to keep any emotion from overflowing, the intensity that bled from everything he were always got lodged in Peter's better senses; Bucky's merciless, firm handed manner left him feeling like he had to prove himself or seek approval.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Peter swallowed, that voice filling up their shared space, swelling inside the boy’s chest. “You know Stark wants me nowhere near you and you fuckin’ _love_ it.” Peter could only stare, jaw loose on its hinges. “Steve convinced me you were just innocently interfering, wanting to help like the annoying teacher’s pet you are, but nah. You’re playing your cards just right.”

“Buck—,”

“Innocent Peter Parker. Who’re they gonna believe?”

“ _Bucky!_ ”

“—the vilified assassin? Or the college kid.” He had a knack for being fixated on the road but still delivering a thunderous blow to the trembling boy beside him. “Your goading in the kitchen, the petrified little act you put up in your room, now you turn up at my appointment acting like it wasn't orchestrated.” Bucky barked out a laugh, slowing at another stop light. Peter had his eyes on both arms, ready to protect himself from another assault. It didn’t come. “You want to rattle Daddy’s cage enough so he’ll come down on me don’t you?”

Peter was mortified, declined, shook his head, tried to speak—

“S’not going to happen, peach.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, I do— I would _never_ ,” Wait a minute, “don’t call me that, stop that, I—,”

“Peach?” Peter settled back into matte leather, Bucky’s glorious cologne suddenly fogging around him. “You fuckin’ bruise like one.”

Peter knew he’d be referring to the redness undoubtedly forming around his jaw. His wrists didn’t take two minutes to turn a violent shade of crimson that night, a friction burn at the back of his neck too— he couldn’t think about that. Not in here. Not when they were this close. He gazed out the window wishing for the red light to turn amber; being stationary drew too much attention to things he didn’t want. “You've got it all wrong.”

“I’ll tell Tony what happened so it doesn’t come from your deceitful little mouth.”

Peter had never felt claustrophobic before. “ _No,_ no please you can’t do that—,”

“Watch me.”

“No, please you don’t understand if he knows that I’ve been anywhere near you _alone_ he will be so upset. Please,” He remembers being this desperate only a handful of times in his life before now, “Bucky please it’s not what you think at all I don’t know why I wanted to help I _just did_ but this isn't me trying to frame you or, or—,” If he were crying by now Peter didn’t care, he was past embarrassment at this point, “please you don’t have to like me you just have to believe me.”

Bucky was listening, metal fingers tapping on the wheel now instead of trying to suffocate it. He looked at the boy, traced his soft profile as he hurriedly looked out the window, stubbornly wiping away the stray tear on his blotched cheek like he didn’t want Bucky to see it. Like he hadn’t just been begging before him with tear glossed eyes. He followed the motion in his throat as he swallowed.

"Enough." His voice came softer, but it didn't ease the panic as Peter tried to keep all sounds to a minimum, Bucky saw the effort and couldn't look away.

“I swear, I’m not like that. I’m not.” Peter shook his head, baby hairs tingling along the nape of his neck. “I know Mister Stark doesn’t want us to— you know. I know that, but Steve, _Natasha_ ,” He sniffled and turned back into the vehicle to be met with blue eyes that were nowhere near softened, but, “they—they all love you.” He sniffled again, risking a look at curved, full lips.

A resounding horn bellowed from behind and Peter leapt from his skin.

“Holy shit—,” He gasped when Bucky knocked them into gear and took off, mumbling something. Peter realised his slip and side eyed the suddenly quiet man, the ache from his jaw now expanding into his throat from crying.

“Mouth.”

That tone again, the gentle ebb of a threat that had Peter adjusting his grip around his laptop even through the panic, Bucky still managed to strike that dip in his tummy. He maybe pressed it a little too hard into his lap, bowed his head to grapple whatever dignity he had left. “Sorry.”

After the route became familiar it was clear that Bucky —much to Peter’s great relief— was in fact, taking him back to compound. The gap in communication wasn’t uncomfortable, just unnerving. Peter wished he could read the inside of his mind one too many times today because the Soldier was unreadable; a credit to his work. Until he spoke you never knew what was about to fall from his lips, there were no tell tale signs in his demeanour asides from the subtle flex in his jaw every so often, that still too small a detail to read anything into.

Twenty minutes had passed by and neither of them had exchanged words, not even glances. Peter simply kept to his side of the vehicle, watching the high rises of the city soon blur into more green as they journeyed Upstate, cars becoming scarce. The boy prayed the silence meant the man was reconsidering and cooling down. If things were different, he would’ve dozed off.

“Those cars,” Peter’s voice was a thin rasp, rolled his head to face the driver, “were they anything to do with you?”

He was relieved to find zero hostility. For the first time Bucky seemed to be loosened, the terrible quietness that always surrounded him which usually piqued Peter’s red flags was only bringing comfort. Which, in itself, should rouse some very serious questions within himself. He pushed it aside for now.

“Cars?” The man replied at length, adjusting the air conditioning.

“Yeah,” Peter almost mirrored his lazy speech, “the black ones outside college.”

The lack of rigidness in Bucky’s recognition caused a woeful pang in Peter’s stomach.

“Aye, full of mercenaries.”

The boy was bug eyed and shuffled forward in his seat, his innocent naivety always taking precedence. He seemed to disconnect momentarily from reality, chose to forget that this man had made a threatening advance not twenty minutes ago and there had been no conciliation to say he wasn’t about to do it again. Still, the boy gazed over, watched the muscles work in his jaw as he chewed on what he supposed was gum. Now his hair was neat everything was so much sharper than before. The strong line of his nose, the slope from his cheekbones that met the tilt to the corners of soft lips. The contrast between them and the stubble surrounding them must be an unusual thing to experience, Peter began imagining the trail of harmless scratches it’d leave behind on his skin, how it’d feel beneath his own curious fingertips. On the inside of his thighs.

But then those lips twisted and spoke without taking his stupid eyes off the stupid road.

“Something interesting?”

Peter’s cheeks scorched. Seemed he were always blushing these days, mostly at the lack of his own discretion. “Why?”

“‘Cause you were jus—,”

“ _Cars,_ the uh, mercenaries,” The boy corrected in a squeak, “why were they there?”

Peter was willing to bet his life that Bucky wanted to grin then, ran a hand over his stubble instead.

“Ordered to fire at will when needed. Kill, if necessary.”

“But,” Peter’s frown was audible and Bucky wanted to pull at that thread of innocence, “who would be after you at MIT? It’s like, nowhere near the City and it’s before nine—,”

“To kill me.”

Whilst Bucky appeared to be careless over the statement he just made, it stung Peter. It stung him harder than the tears he failed to keep at bay. There were so many questions he suddenly found himself wanting to ask from nowhere at all and he didn’t know why the urge to dive into this man washed over him but he wanted to drown in it.

Bucky checked the time on his phone— which, alright. It’d been slotted in the cup holder all this time and Peter hadn’t even noticed. Probably too distracted from trying to dodge any and all possibilities of his jaw getting dislocated.

“You know what’s sadder than the fact you’ve had no music playing this entire ride?” Peter hitched his leg up, just the one, only just catching his laptop before it slid off. “An iPhone with a default image for the lock screen.”

Bucky snapped his fingers, “Foot off the seat.”

Peter pouted, “But my bottom, it’s _really_ numb—,”

“I don’t give a fuck about your ass.”

The man was silently charmed by the jittery nature of the younger boy, there was a lightness to him that came with ease and a bashfulness that seemed to be sewn into every movement. It was an oddly alluring thing to witness first hand and he didn’t know when it had gone from being irritating to wanting to induce that stammer in his voice more often.

Peter dropped his leg and when Bucky went to signal his blinker he resisted shooting a web to stop him mid-way, slapped a hand over his instead. “Don’t—," He retracted almost instantly, "if anyone sees you pulling up with me I meant what I said if he finds out, Mister Stark will go nuts on both you _and_ me, man.”

Peter eventually sighed after what felt like a century, cheeks bloating as Bucky picked up speed again to look for a good spot to pull over instead. Tony would be able to see he were a second away from the compound and assume he took cab. Best to keep it that way.

Bucky watched him unbuckle, tactfully keeping the laptop over his knee while he went.

“You really had no idea I was in that office today.”

Relief flooded the teenager’s nerves. It was like Bucky had the string to every single one in his body and was able to tug at them as he pleased, have him bending to his will. Brown eyes that shone with pretty amber flecks in the clouded sunlight, glittered over at him. “No.” He shook his head, so genuine and vulnerable to the man right now that it caused a primal furling in Bucky’s gut. “I don’t want you to get into trouble and I would _never_ want you to—,”

Bucky’s hand came up to his chin then and it may as well have been a fist to his gut. “Alright.”

He’d gone taut, held his breath. Didn’t dare move or say anything to alter whatever was happening.

But as soon as long fingers began to curl around the delicate structure, they titled his his face gently to the left, then to the right and dropped. They were so light it was a thing to wonder whether they were ever there at all.

“About that-,” The elder gestured his own jaw.

“—it’s okay,” Peter’s voice betrayed him, caught in a stupor, “I understand.”

Bucky nodded, squinted out at the forestry. “You gonna be good from here?”

And right. That’s why he were here. Sat here, in Mr Barnes’ car. His brain and higher power, both still on vacation.

He assured him he’d be fine, said he could do with the exercise of the mini trek. It wasn’t far; four minutes by car, ten minutes on foot, mostly an uphill incline to the compound nestled just beyond the thickest part of the trees. Peter would probably jog his way there to get the breeze in and around his overheated body. 

*

Sometimes, he wishes he’d just stick to the status quo and keep his mouth shut. It’s always worked for him, it was a trademark for him to be the quiet, broody looking one that keeps himself to himself and in all truthfulness he didn’t dislike it. It served as a fair warning to anyone with ill intentions and limited unwanted social interactions that in this generation, seemed to often end up being mundane and lacking. However, Bucky being among _friends_ , feels things can be safely shared.

This, was one of the things that he should’ve kept to himself.

The four of them were wedged into a booth right at the back of the tiny diner, it was a late Thursday night, only a drunk couple and a few night shift workers were milling around. They knew they’d be unbothered here. Nat was sat across from him sporting an immovable, attractive grin as she sucked her milkshake through her straw. Steve, arm slung around the back of her chair with a near empty plate of fries and Sam. Right next to him with a half eaten plate of macaroni, _staring_.

“A cat.”

Nat giggled.

Bucky sighed, “Yeah.” He plucked a toothpick from the holder and went about picking around the teeth his tongue couldn’t reach.

Sam, couldn’t process this decision at all. He looked to Steve for support but got the usual pensive expression, Natasha seemed to be charmed by it. “But a cat. I had you pinned as more of a,” Sam was making a motion with his hands, “ _Rottweiler_ type of a guy, you know? Something with bite.”

“Clearly you’ve never had kitty bite you before.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, lifting her straw from the pink liquid to watch it drip.

Bucky expected it to be a fleeting comment with minimal reaction, but it seemed there was confusion over his desire to adopt a pet. Moreover, his choice of animal.

Steve threw another fry in his mouth. “I can see it.”

He tapped Natasha’s hand when she stole one. “Me too.”

Bucky dropped the toothpick but reached for another just to hold between his teeth, a habit he picked up from somewhere and leant back into his seat, mirroring Steve’s arm behind Sam. Said man was still baffled, “So—,” Bucky lolled his head back, “nah listen just, just tell me why you want a small animal running around your loft? Like you’re aware you’d have to take care of it, feed it, nurture it.”

“Yeah, th—,”

“That also means not stepping on it.”

Bucky utilised the hand he had resting to playfully thwack him upside the head. “There’s no deeper meaning behind me wanting a pet.”

The door pinged and Bucky looked to it, mishearing what was just said, “—you what?”

“I think there is.” Natasha leant into her arms and crossed them, smiling that smile that was only indicative of one thing.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky took the toothpick from his lips. “Shoot.”

“I think you should go out and find yourself a pretty lady, a fine _dame_ , to look after instead.” Beside her, Steve was looking at Bucky but no one caught it. “Or boy, there’s plenty of pretty boys in the city too.”

“Thanks for reminding me why I don’t hang out more often.”

There was an uproar of interjections, Sam agreeing with Natasha whilst she defended her statement. She was always lurking around in the background, just waiting to jump at the opportunity of playing matchmaker; Sam and her riding the same wavelength whilst Steve was more on his, drawing attention to the horrifying suggestion that Bucky was using a cat as a substitute for a partner. It didn’t prevent them from reminding him exactly how long it’d _been_ , how he definitely fit the profile of many’s fantasies and could be feasting from his choice of lovers if he just allowed himself to.

But that was the thing, the thing they all really knew and could all emphasise with to an extent. Being of a certain profile really whittled the list of people you could trust to a fine point. Being of his reputation, too, meant he were risking their safety by being any kind of involved. It wasn’t a conversation they entertained often or lightly, but the unspoken threat of Hydra— despite there being no trail for over a year, was enough to keep him a lone wolf, for if he chose to indulge himself in a partner he’d have a weakness they could target without mercy.

Bucky grew tired of the topic fast.

Steve, practically an extension of the guy, took his cue to change the subject. “What’s happening with Beck?”

Natasha lit up for another reason altogether then, “ _Oh I forgot_ ,” Bucky was in love with her hushed voice despite _the entire table being in on it_ , “is baby spider…?”

He stretched out the crick in his back, affirming. “Yeah, I’ve only been back to see Quentin one time since but, he says the kid’s still assisting.”

Sam and Steve exchanged looks, “And, Stark's still non the wiser?”

Bucky knew he shouldn’t feel so defensive against the accusatory undertone, but he also knew, they were right to be such. He shifted in his seat, long legs knocking Steve’s beneath the table. “Uh, no.”

“Wait didn’t you make him _cry_ the la— _ow what the fuc—,”_ Sam looked to a wide eyed Natasha. “What?”

“I told you that in confidence.”

“I assume Peter told you in it too.” Steve. Fucking, morally high-strung Steve.

She dismissed his comment with a wave, “He can talk to me, we talk. He just mentioned how he got a little overwhelmed when Big Bully Barnes over here thought he had nefarious intentions.” Something passed over her expression just then and as always, it didn’t go unnoticed. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

Bucky hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment in the car, seeing Peter’s chest fluctuate with his sobs, the desperation in his voice. He had no ego to uphold then, or ever, and it was becoming more and more apparent as the days pushed on. Not that he would admit it out loud and risk Natasha throwing them a best friend’s forever party. “He’s just an emotional kid.”

Sam hummed.

“He’s got all those senses and shit,” Bucky continued, “everything’s heightened.”

Steve wanted to point out how maybe the fact he had his jaw in a vice like grip didn’t help, but he kept shut.

“Exactly, and he can’t use them right.” Natasha _agreed_ with them, but it wasn’t facetious. “Still think we should do something.”

She was talking to Steve now, Sam and Bucky left to pick up the dregs where they could. Which wasn’t a lot. Steve was thoughtful, managing to make the moving of his plate look royal as he pushed it forward. “We can’t intervene.”

The door pinged again but no one looked.

“It doesn’t feel right to sit and let it happen.”

But Steve was insistent, “We intervene, we risk revealing Peter.”

“You sound like Tony.”

“Good, he’s right.”

“But he’s the one who insists on keeping—,”

Sam spoke for the both of them, “Alright— hate to interrupt but could you bring us in?”

Steve sighed, “We’re handling it.”

“Last Friday Peter came home with a bust rib.”

“ _What_.” Bucky and Sam were in unison.

“ _Nat_.”

The training to remain _calm_ was more prevalent now more than ever it felt, Steve looking to Natasha as she sat forward and explained exactly what happened. They’d agreed the less people who knew the less they’d feel inclined to go full protection mode of the baby of the group and work out vengeance, but Natasha wasn’t on board with that. She’d been chomping at the bit to get it out there to someone other than Tony and Steve.

When she finished listing the numerous abrasions that were littered over Peter’s body, she felt the cold hard stare of all three men, all, for largely differing reasons.

“Four of them.” Sam clarified. It wasn’t a question as to why Peter didn’t fight back, to fend off four larger guys he would’ve had to adopt serious strength and if he did that, it wouldn’t take long for them to put two and two together.

She nodded. “Four.”

He had to take it, defend himself so far but accept the beating beyond a point.

“He’s strong, but he doesn’t know how to fight.”

“Could dodge a punch at best, but counteracting one?” Steve was fishing inside his jacket for his wallet. “Fighting hand to hand he doesn’t know the first thing.”

Bucky had been quiet throughout the entire thing and it wrung a knot of tension when something that sounded sickeningly similar to bones cracking sounded, and he spoke.

“Do we know why?”

Sam was surprised he’d commented at all, Natasha looking a mix of hope like she had a million things to say. She looked to the soldier to her side as though she were checking for permission to begin, though, but Bucky wasn’t looking like he were willing to wait.

“Why’d they do it?” He repeated, waiting for one of them to speak up.

“Your visit drew a lot of attention.” Steve started. He had the air of a parent attempting to explain the delicate sex talk with his prepubescent Son. “It didn’t exactly fly under the radar that Peter left with you and a bunch of kids wanted,” He tried for gentility but it fell short, Bucky’s metal hand crunching into a fist again, "..to know why."

Nat was worried, “ _It’s not your fault_ —,” The hand she reached over was rejected.

“Stark knows?”

“Yes. He doesn’t know the truth as to why they hurt him b—,”

“And he’s done _nothing?_ ”

“He’s scared, it’s hard to really know where to begin,”

He didn’t need to listen further to understand what was happening, it was laid out very clear in everything they weren’t saying, the looks of pity and concern for the guilt they knew would rain down on him. He didn't know what he felt, didn't want to understand or identify the source of whatever bile was uncurling in his stomach, but he knew he couldn't shake the image replaying over and over in his head. Right next to the one of Peter crying on loop, was one of his tiny body getting pulverised by four faceless males. 

Steve’s voice of reason floated in one ear, “Buck, whatever you’re thinking,” Trickled out the other, “shut it down."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So everyone is liking the general, rogue Bucky and sensitive Peter. Good :)

“I mean, I did ask for carpet samples when ordering pizza last night but,” Peter wedged the phone between his shoulder and cheek whilst rustling about in the cupboard, “I don’t think there’s any real lasting damage to my hea— I’m _joking— Ned_ ,” Balance was still a sore point for the boy himself, but balancing a plate, a jar of mustard and a butter knife in one hand? No problem. “Ned I can hear her —stop, MJ it was a _joke-,_ ”

On one hand, having two friends who care about you to the extent of sending thumbs up/thumbs down texts every couple of hours to keep track, calling every evening gone six without fail and reminding you to get a full eight hours of sleep every night was blisteringly lucky and he was grateful. But he was a bit fed up with having to remind them he had the turnover time of a Navy Seal on acid. He may have the unfortunate luck of sensitive baby skin and marked easily, but injuries regenerate quickly. His fractured bones began fusing back together hours after they’d broken. Was the pain insufferable? Yes. Did it have him doubled over and wanting to vomit with every breath taken too hard, yes. But that intensity lasted only until the morning after Stark’s on sight medic had him dosed to the hilt with morphine fit to knock out a God.

“Promise me you haven’t said anything to them,” He cut his sandwich, winced when the knife shrieked against the plate, “—promise me.”

He was truly, fine. Physically. Bruises had disappeared, lacerations, grazes, all healed over like his porcelain skin was never broken. A week had passed and so had the the worst of it. He could turn, twist, get up, move around and do all his usual things fluently. All his usual things since being stuck inside the compound limited to getting up, hygiene duties, breakfast, poking around places Mr Stark scolded him for, reading, lunch, studying, second lunch from boredom, movies and stretching out his limbs in the gym— Mr Stark had allowed him to exercise but no swinging, strictly no fun-filled-web-activities.

He was currently on his first lunch, “I don’t want them knowing I’ve told anyone.”

MJ was sounding off in the background, saying that that sort of thing should be reported because who knows who else they’ve hurt like that. Students who don’t have the kind of excelled healing capacity he does. He still felt pain. Every last blow to his stomach.

Peter stared at the sandwich. “I just— I want to wait ’til I get back to think about that kind of stuff. You know?”

Ned was softer but MJ wasn’t happy. She wouldn’t break her promise to her best friend to keep it close to her chest, but she wanted justice faster. Told Peter she loved him which, was rare for her usually closed off self. The boy’s nose scrunched as he smiled to himself at her confession, staying quiet for just a _touch_ too long until:

_“Okay don’t get soft on me, we’re leaving you alone now loser. Bye.”_

Hanging up a few seconds later, Peter was left all to himself once more and the silence that fell was unbearable.

Silence, being still, allowed him to relive the parts of himself he wished he could forget. The physicality of his condition was a blessing that he didn’t take for granted, ever. Always felt a strong sense of duty for being so resilient. But the brave face only expanded to the edges of his social circle, his incessant reassurance that he was alright never faltered in the presence of his friends, his mentor, definitely not in front of Aunt May. She’d been allowed to visit a couple times this week already. But when he was alone it all came back to focus and he was forced to think about it, to _feel_ it, all over again.

The knife clattered against the tiled floor and Peter just stared at it, breathing a little unsteady.

He felt so fucking stupid standing there letting the ghost of a beating cripple him. He’d endured bigger fights, far more dangerous enemies. But what made this worse was that it was personal. He wasn’t part of a team battling one equal opposition, he was alone, cornered and the assault was deliberate. He was begging, tried kicking at one of their shins but received a foot to his throat. He remembers tears brimming, loose gravel scratching his palms, crunching in his ear as a boot squished his face into the pavement.

There was blood at some point, moments before he blacked out from impact. He was choking on it, the metallic taste a puddle beneath his tongue.

When Peter swallowed it's all he could taste.

“God.” Leant into shaky arms on the counter. “C’mon Peter.”

He was stronger than this. Stark had promised to have a word with the school board once Peter was back on campus and everyone could meet. He had to make it believable and have him off for two weeks minimum, to elude to normal human healing timelines; having Peter skip up the front steps four days later would raise many questions.

Stark had _promised_ Peter he would go about having the boys removed. He didn’t know if removed meant suspended or permanent expulsion, either way he could pull anonymity and have them disappear without trial or trace. Peter liked that idea. No fuss, no drama, just removing the problem.

The promise made him feel better, but it didn’t make him feel safe.

With his appetite kicking back in an hour later, Peter managed to eat his sandwich, making a mess when tomato seeds dribbled down his chin gracelessly. He was sat cross-legged, blanket pulled up to his chin in the communal lounge, watching replays on The Fresh Prince when he heard Natasha’s voice echo from the corridor.

“Pete?” Closer, he peered over the back of the sofa.

She crossed back down the hallway, her voice still echoing. “…Peter?”

Peter wiggled lower, not exactly a difficult feat to make himself tinier.

Her voice floated through the common room as she doubled back on herself, the outline of her figure through the frosted glass nearing his position. “Earth to webs you in here?”

He could hold off a giggle for only so long, _feeling_ the confusion from her as she stared at the tv playing to itself. She scoured the kitchen, looked back to the table to see if she’d missed something, frowned. “What the…” The soft grey blanket twitching at the edge of the couch caught her eye, “hello?”

Coming down to the lounge level she saw the tuft of brunette curls poking out the top of what can only be described as a volcanic structure of blankets. Natasha rolled her eyes, fondness bubbling at the infantile behaviour. “Oh no, where has Peter gone?” Exaggerating her steps in front of the couch she sighed, “Well! Might as well sit around and wait for him to appear—,”

Hovering over the lower half of Peter’s coiled body she plumped up a pillow and dropped it atop his bent legs. A _hair’s breadth_ form taking a seat when the boy exploded from his cover. “ _Okay stop, stop, stop,”_ He was a bundle of giggles, adjusting himself to a proper seated position so she could join him. “Oh my God,” Not before she got a firm thwack to his shoulder first though. “Hey!” He pouted, grabbing the pillow she launched at him, cuddling it.

After mild chit chat about her being ‘only young’ when this program had come out —like she were ancient— and a sound debate on which Will Smith movie took the top spot, the mandatory checks on his health rolled around. She knew he was sick of everyone treating him like he’d shatter on impact, but it was her big sister duties to monitor such things. And poke fun at his tolerance to Stark’s house arrest rules.

“Yeah about that,” If _Nat_ checked over her shoulder to confirm their isolation it meant something very illegal or very, _Tony will probably kill me if he knew but,_ was about to go down, “how’d you fancy getting outta dodge for a while?” 

It was a coin toss.

“I just told you, I can’t _leave_ , Nat. He’s covered all basis for me needing to get out.”

“Not all.” Peter waited for the explanation after she checked her phone and looked like a kid at Disneyland. “In about five minutes, Tony’s going to be notified of a gas leak in the gym an— actually, on the entire floor, we couldn’t figure out how to isolate it from the main valve on—,” Peter looked horrified, “that’s irrelevant. Point is, it'll be shut down immediately meaning you, little man, have every reason to be taken to a private little place Steve rents out in the City.”

“His _apartment—,_ ”

“No, gym place. Not apartment place.”

“Oh,” Peter was adorable, trying to piece it altogether, “ _oh,_ so I can work out— oh, oh, oh so I can swing?”

It almost broke Nat’s heart to shut that down, regretfully informing him that it wasn’t the kind of place he could practise any web swinging but she ensured him that it was going to be worth it. She started to talk about training but quickly backed up on herself, saying Steve will explain more on the way there.

Peter pointed a thumb midair, “Cap’s here?”

“Waiting outside.”

“You’re not coming?” He pouted again and she ruffled his hair.

“I promised Bruce I’d spend some time with him before he and Tony head out tomorrow.”

Right. He’d forgotten about that. Tony was heading to Boston for a conference tomorrow for four whole days, business that he again, wasn’t allowed intel on. It left Pepper in charge of all operations back here. After a little bit of encouragement, Peter was fuelled by adrenaline at the concept of breaking the rules only a teeny tiny bit and flew off to his room to get ready.

*

_‘You always have had a thing for small, defenceless little things that need a bit of guidance, huh,”_

Steve had hit the nail on the head and it bothered him. It bothered him that he was an old man with die hard habits and Steve Rogers could navigate every single one of them, identify one before Bucky could even see it coming. Upon instinct it was an innate urge to root for the underdog, to keep an eye on the black sheep, to make sure no one was left behind but since many moons ago that naturally protective nature had been distorted, torn apart at the hands of corruption itself. His power had been used against him; the resilience that ran deep utilised for sin. And now, he was sin. The Bucky he was all those years ago was still there, but morphed, threads of his better self equipped with the hardened exterior of worse men. The worst parts of him could often be the best and the best, his weakest.

Closing up his loft, he relayed the conversation from the diner in his head. Reminding him why this was a good idea instead. Nat was right, Steve too. Even Sam was in agreement and he wasn’t Stark’s biggest fan despite Steve’s alliance.

Considering all the shit Tony’d given him over fighting for what’s right, the incessant preaching about wanting to keep the kid safe in his protection bubble but when the time comes to step up and do something that _didn’t_ involve Bucky, he was suddenly taking a back seat. This is the man, who had all but Peter-proofed the compound. The same man, who went above and beyond to make sure everyone knew how protected he was in the fatherly bosom of his salvation. The man who’d held resentment over his very head for the past three years for something he had no lucid control over and now makes it his primary mission objective, to keep as many people at arm’s distance including Princess Parker.

Bucky called bullshit. Like feathery mannered Quentin, he thought he were fabricated, hiding behind his glossy name and franchise. It was an act. Natasha, the rest, they’d all denied it and willed him to speak kinder but where was the voracious parental will now? Where was Tony’s grit, now the assailable boy had been violently assaulted in daylight?

He pulled his cap down to the crowds on the street, keys jangling as he hooked them to his belt loop.

Tony was more bothered about making sure he was exactly were he could keep him quiet, under the beady eye of house arrest over putting steps in to rectify. To make sure those boys who dared to touch his precious boy felt the wrath of consequence. To _prevent,_ anything happening again _._

All Bucky had to do was be within spitting distance of Pepper, Happy. Peter, and he’d have a SWAT team at the ready with a bullseye on his fucking chest.

Yesterday he was ready to charge in to the compound and deck Stark into the nearest surface. He wasn’t sure—none of them were, whether it was because he were mad over the afore mentioned contradictories or because of a surge of vexation over Peter’s wellbeing. Or a mix of the two. Bucky didn’t understand it himself, either. He simply felt irritably hinged on the edge of a something that was due to snap with the next wrong move.

The slam of the metal door reverberated around the empty basement. He wasn’t apologetic.

“Buck.”

Steve was already there, obviously. Looking expectant with his car keys hanging between his fingers. His time keeping along with every last strand of hair on his head impeccable as ever. Bucky nodded. “Pumpkin.”

Peter was a tiny presence next to him, slim grey sweat pants, white t-shirt that left little to the imagination when it came to his shapely, but narrow build.

“I told you to be here at three, it’s three fifte—,”

“Time keeping was something I learnt aged five, Steve.” Bucky had unhooked his keys, slung them onto the bench. “Learning that I didn’t give a shit about what you think? Yesterday.”

The tension from the disagreement lingered and Bucky could be the bigger man in most scenarios, but for some reason, not here. The first time he had the clear right to have it out with Stark over a downfall and he’d took the other’s side. Maybe he was right to act more reserved and work the energy into something more productive, but Bucky was past caring about placidity with Stark.

Steve chose to ignore it. “Peter knows what’s happening,” Half way through motioning to the boy Bucky interjected.

“What is that?”

Peter froze like a rabbit in headlights, pinching the red liquorice between his forefinger and thumb. He looked dumbly to Steve, then Bucky, snipping the edge off and munching hurriedly. “S’just somethin’ I fancied.”

Bucky took the empty packet from his hands and Peter wanted to throw a tantrum. “How do you eat all this shit and remain…”

Steve was looking at him, Peter, a hand covering his mouth as he finished up chewing, not daring to blink incase he missed the end of that sentence. Something that never came. “We stopped off on the way for them.” Why Steve felt the need to clarify that nobody knew, but Peter looked elated regardless, nodding.

Rogers knew he’d have a comment about the candy, knew it would tickle the part of him that believes Peter is still wet from the womb. Peter was oblivious, finishing off his stick of raspberry liquorice with a satisfied hum. It’d stained his lips a cherry colour and Bucky tore his eyes away.

He screwed the packet tight. “Well if you kids are ready—,”

“Actually you know what?” Whatever was coming Bucky knew he wasn’t going to like it, “I’ve been struck with a sudden sweet tooth— Peter? What you say I go grab us a couple more of those twizzlers.” Bucky’s fist had closed dangerously tight, head cocked to the side _daring_ him, “It’ll take ten minutes, tops. Plenty of time for you guys to warm up.”

An encouraging smile was angled towards Peter, whom didn’t seem as nervous at the concept of being left in solitude with the 6ft affliction this time around.

It was a little weird, Peter knew something was off but he was too polite to comment. “S-sure?” And secretly excited at the promise of more processed sugar. Stark kept stock of all sweet treats to a minimum.

“Raspberry?”

“Please,” Peter nodded, drawing in his lip as Bucky launched the balled up wrapper at his back.

Steve picked it up, brandished it before jogging up the steps. “What age were you when you learnt not to litter, Barnes?”

The bastard knew what he was doing. He’d displayed one ounce of softness, a trickle of concern for the teen and he’s playing on it. He knows damn well he’s het up about faking niceties, knows he’ll have to face the part of himself he’s been pushing down for so long now the longer he’s left alone with the boy, the more exposure to innocence, the less rigid he became. Although most of the time Bucky felt the more he were exposed to Peter’s ethereal virtue the filthier he felt.

The echo of the door was felt beneath their feet.

"You alright?"

Peter was dumbstruck. Felt like if he didn't answer then he'd retract it. "Yeah." He really was. "I'm okay."

He didn't know if it was the whole truth but he felt safer and he didn't fancy exploring why. Just knew his skin was prickling right now, his adrenaline was high for all the right reasons and there was no acidic threat settling in his tummy. “Was this your idea?” How, was it possible for one to sound smaller every time they met.

Bucky cleared his throat, shouldering off his jacket. “To be left in a basement with you?”

“ _No, no_ ,” There was a smile in his voice, Peter shaking his head, “silly, _no_. The training.”

_No I wanted to knock your mentor’s teeth to the back of his throat but apparently that’s counterproductive._

Bucky laid his next to Peter’s neatly folded checkered one, on the bench. “It was more a collective decision. After we heard what happened to you, I found it odd nothing was being,” He really struggled to maintain a respectful front, “done.”

“Mister Stark believes it’s best to wait until—,”

“Stark’s an inheritable technical mastermind and I’m a soldier, we work differently.”

Peter knew the mark was coming up, the mark he knew not to step over and so took heed. The warning was in the short temperament, the mention of Tony always had him recoiling to defence and it was something he was going to have to deal with if he wanted them to get along. And whether Barnes saw this training as a professional token over a personal one, he wanted to, he thinks. He did.

“You’ve never gotten into a fight before?” Bucky probed, seemingly sizing the boy up on the spot.

“N-no,”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

Peter thought he was prepared but realised how credulous that was now Bucky was right there, unpredictably alone and about to have his hands on him in a way that would bring him no harm. He rushed to respond better, had to do better if he wanted to be taken seriously. “I’ve never been into a proper fight before, I haven’t really— before the bite I was never in the wrong crowds and since, well, the only fights I’ve been in are ones I’ve used momentum and swung ar—,”

“Did you bring them with you?” Bucky was close and Peter could lose balance just from the headiness it brought.

Tongue caught dumb by his teenage libido, he shook his head but that wasn’t good enough for the man who asked for _words_.

“No,” He offered up bare wrists, “left them at home.”

“Good. I trust Steve’s explained we’ll be teaching you jointly, he’ll be mainly block, evade and boxing conditioning, I’ll be teaching you to attack, evade and all other floor work.”

Peter giggled and it drew a line between the man’s brow. “Mhm, he said you fight dirtier than he can.”

Of course he did.

Bucky starts from the bottom with showing Peter how to throw a proper punch, only to find out that Peter already knows that much, because he has to dodge a fast one, packed with power and incredibly well aimed.

“Holy cow,” It was out before he were able to stop himself, “why didn’t you tell me you already knew how to do that?”

Peter’s smile was teetering dangerously close to a smirk. “Tired of being underestimated.”

And well, Bucky thought the boy had a point there.

“Alright Rocky,” He conceded, “show me what I’m working with.”

Bucky barely squares himself, comfortable to take whatever he (now) knows is coming, circling Peter like he were some sort of prey. Peter takes a moment to realise what’s happening and raises his fists, knowing his stance will already be taking silent criticism and if their proximity wasn’t enough to make him nervous, Bucky’s trained eye definitely was. He’s patient, painfully quiet as he waits for Peter to make his first move but when he does, he duly makes the mistake of pulling back too much before going to strike and Barnes is ready to block it.

“Again.”

Adjusting his feet, he launches a fist lower but Bucky catches it, shakes his head. “Again.”

It’s a repetitive cycle of Peter throwing punches and the elder blocking them, wanting him to know how to throw a strike and move simultaneously. It was almost a dance for him, watching this eighteen year old that he’s seen tackle the universe’s worst be thrown off like this. It was a balm to his rage seeing him struggle. Couple minutes in and it was hard to keep track of his position.

“All good peach?”

Peter nodded, remembered what he’d said, “Yeah,” he bounced a little, took a swing to the centre of Bucky’s fist, “g-good.”

Boy had muscle. It was lithe and compact, but his arms were aptly defined. Naturally slim, everything was put together with delicate joints and supple proportions; filled out his build just so.

"Come on," Bucky taunted him, dodged a fist to his face, "harder."

Peter went for his face again and Bucky _cooed._ He swung fast, got a hard block. "Again." Went in again, one, two, three times and was pushed, blocked and _slapped._

Peter nearly _yelled_ , looking angry now and it induced a shit eating grin from his coach. Counteracting the uppercut and left swing to his ribs. "Do better."

Peter _wanted_ to do better. He groaned, a huff swelling his lips as he let his fists hang for a second. A curl was beginning to stick to his forehead, already damp from the relentless pace. If this was the beginning he were screwed, he had a long way to go until he were anywhere near able to defend himself _or_ impress Bucky. Both of them, he wanted to impress both.

He flexed his fists, went up on his toes and swung around to deliver a high kick but his feeble technique had his ankle caught in a metal grip, the inside of his thigh grappled and _swivelled_ like a barrel midair before slapping face first onto the mat. 

Peter appeared to be momentarily wrecked and Bucky hadn't technically, _technically_ laid a finger on him. He had singlehandedly fatigued his own body by just trying to get a hit on a target that had a substantial enough surface area. There was a lot to be said about the effort he were putting in, Bucky gave him that much. He may be slight but he had gusto. The groan that came from Peter then would've been a perverted delight if it wasn't cut short by the door clanging shut. 

"I see you two have hit it off."

*

The second time they trained Peter had come more prepared. He was prepared to be close, prepared to have his body worked hard by two (one _much_ kinder than the other) super soldiers and expected to take it on the chin.

He liked it. Peter liked being treat like an equal and not something fragile. He was under no delusion he were between 460lbs of combined muscle and would probably be snapped like a toothpick if things turned sour, but they treat him as though it were the opposite and pushed. They pushed him hard and Peter needed it. Their sessions had been carried out quite nicely, Stark being made aware of the situation back at the compound made it easier, hopefully giving him an excuse to come here even when it were 'fixed' if they maintained it were only Steve who was with him. Three sessions a week. Tuesday, Thursday and Fridays.

By the third time Peter had managed to figure out patterns in their behaviours and adopted a few of their own tricks to deceive them in good jest, impressing the Captain a few times with how much he were retaining. In the ring, Peter would skip a step that he knew was coming and move to strike. He’d traced Cap’s approach from the left hand side when he were told to block and did just that, but counteracted with a jab before he had chance to instruct. It all went down well, even if it were at the expense of feeling like the men had picked every joint from it’s axis and put them back together again. Steve checked he were alright when he saw he were losing his breath every so often, the boy’s tight chest moving far too quickly for it to be healthy. He let him stop, take water, rest. Peter liked Steve.

Bucky was another breed. Steve had joked about him fighting dirty, but there was a warning in there. There was no fear of the young Spider-Man being on the receiving end of the soldier’s fists in spite, Steve knew that, Peter’s confidence was _growing_ , on that. Just Bucky had an entirely more ruthless method. He would start off the same every time, allowing the small boy the good grace to get a couple rounds of hits in; punches, kicks, jump kicks— whatever move he’d thrown out he expected Peter to pick up with repetition. Circling, repetition. However, no one would find him retracing his steps from the previous session. He’d make Peter move. He’d give him a situation and expect Peter to act without hesitation, over and over and over—

Then came the hold.

And that, was always the same.

It was the fifth time in now and Peter was growing tired of being made a mockery of during those short bursts. He would check his form, getting faster, but Peter was never fast enough, not strong enough to evade the wall of muscle that slammed into him and bent his wrists behind his back like that. 

The angle on his joints was painful and lurched the breath from his chest. Peter didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t this; he at least thought he’d go a little easy on him for the first few sessions, maybe reserve some of his full power until he had the basics down. “ _Ow, o_ — Bucky,” He stumbled a little, Bucky pulling him taught, “g-go easy?”

It fell on confused ears, a frown to match. “I am.”

“What the hell man,” Peter whisper-shouts, outraged, twisting in his hold only to miserably realise it made it ten times more painful. Steve’s laughter could be heard from somewhere up ahead but he didn’t waste the effort to distribute a glare. Said something about taking a call. Peter was _devastatingly_ exhausted.

He knew he wouldn’t switch it up until he escaped it.

Bucky doesn’t budge. “You’re strong, but there’s always going to be someone stronger,” Peter scoffs and it was weirdly endearing how his attitude refused to shift despite his position. Still, Bucky shakes his wrists for it. “You’re small,” He continues, “chances are your opponent is almost always going to have a height and size advantage on you.”

“I’ve taken on things ten times my size bef—,”

“Not talking about alien shit, _real_ fights, hand to hand.”

That shut him up, groaned a little from the excessive strain of the angle Bucky still hadn’t eased up on. There was a moment of panic where he found himself back shoved against the wired fence, angry voices and rough hands shackling, shoving, pushing, hitting— “Boy.” Bucky’s voice brought him back. There was nothing to fear here, the irony of admitting that to himself after all this time was monumental.

“What’s your point?” He demands, didn’t want to seem _weak_.

“The point is just because you’re petite,” He explains, “it doesn’t mean you can’t find leverage and use it to your advantage.”

“Leverage,” Peter repeats thoughtfully. He rolls his wrists in Bucky’s hand which’d loosened by the tiniest fragment, “what d’you mean?”

“Anything initially,” Bucky says quite simply, “whatever you can find. The weakest point in their hold, a pressure point that will loosen on reflex. If you’re pinned, you want to act fast at getting out of it.”

Making a noise of agreement, Peter peers back at him and nods. It’s odd for the smallest moment until he moves again, but this time it isn’t to try ease any pressure on his limbs but to instead twist and push his ass into the bulge of Bucky’s cock. “Leverage like the fact you’ve been getting harder this entire time?”

The speed at which Bucky retracted his hands did all the talking for him. Felt like he was burning and _looked_ to his palms as though checking if he were. Then, before he knows it, he’s the victim of a kick to his stomach and he falls smack on his back against the cold floor and a human _plopped_ on top of him. Barnes processes it quickly, cut off when his arms are seized and held flat against the floor either side of his head.

“Does this mean I win?” Peter’s breathing was elevated, looking proud of himself in spite of the flush blossoming across his cheeks.

Bucky’s lap was not a safe place to be looking like that.

The man was hit with a strong urge to yank him down and press their mouths together, just to see. Just to shut him up and taste the whimper. It doesn’t pass. “You know this isn’t difficult to get out of, right?”

To prove it, he bends his legs so his boots are flat against the floor, already tense and ready to flip them over, except Peter wasn’t planning on making it that simple. He leans back against them, hands drifting down Bucky’s forearms loosely and planted himself against the thick weight pressing back against the cleft of his ass.

His voice was light. “Do it.”

Never, had Bucky been so relieved to hear Steve interrupt.

*

Abstinence had been working out just perfectly, Bucky figuring the longer he can steer clear of the insolent boy the easier it will become to push back at everything trying to infiltrate his sense. He was eighteen, barely budded into adulthood. His perversions weren't something he hid, his tastes and sexual appetite was something- like almost everything else, he were matter of fact about. But this was Peter, and he didn't see him like that. Couldn't. Didn't make an ounce of sense to an otherwise sensible man, therefore chalking it up to tension that had been misconstrued. Time had ticked by and he'd gone the whole weekend, without sight or word on each other. Bucky'd stopped by MIT again upon Quentin's request come Tuesday afternoon and he was leaving, just as the boy slipped in. Quentin had kept him talking about nonsense at the door one second too long that he hazarded a peek over to the desk he were perched at, pen stuck in his mouth with a languid tongue tracing the lid. He was staring right back but _popped_ the pen out when he realised.

Now however, it’s hard to ignore the shouts and repetitive coaching of fist against mat when it’s not even twenty feet away from him. Bucky tries though, concentrating on what he’s supposed to be doing even though he isn’t quite sure what that was anymore.

He looks down at the treadmill, the wires attached to his pulse points, the strap around his bare torso tracking pulse patterns. One more minute and then he could leave, all the data Bruce needed would be done in the next minute.

“Nice, but a little faster next time,” Steve is saying, clearly a note on Peter’s technique as another jab is issued to the pad he held. “Good, two-one ,” _Tap tap_ , “Two,” _Tap,_ “Three,” _Tap_ , “—Three, one, one,” _Tap, tap_ , _tap._

Peter’s good. He’s agile and fast, so the standard movements of boxing comes quite easily to him. The power he has can be condensed well and honed over time to deliver a good fight when it came to it, just needed the guidance and training that he’s never received since acquiring his abilities. The praise from Steve had him smiling sweetly, hanging his head back in bliss when it were finally declared the session was done for today. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that spoke volumes of Peter putting his all into it and while he may never be quite as polished as either soldiers in the art, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind he would hold his own if he continued at this rate.

Bucky was finished at the same time, unhooking the equipment as he stepped off the treadmill.

“ _Hey!_ ” Steve beckoned. No.

Bucky needed out of that room fast, not a reason to linger. He tipped his chin, hand gripping the wires and reader, hung loose at his side.

“Hey— I wondered what that was,” Steve motioned towards the monitor, still a little breathless from the workout, “Stark wanted your stats?”

As per the new S.H.I.E.L.D protocol, it was a necessity they keep track of everyone’s fitness. Bucky didn’t know when he became so much of an importance to the _team_ , but he didn’t argue. He did, but after a month or two of refusal Steve buffered him into succumbing. The effects of the serum are mostly known, side effects— both obvious and underlying, but research is always ongoing and consistently monitoring any correlations between both himself and Steve, aided that research.

“Bruce.” He corrected, brandishing it quickly before turning to walk past Steve.

“Hey, I know it’s Wednesday but,” He left it open ended, gesturing behind himself towards the boy towelling the sweat from his neck, “you know.”

No he didn’t. And frankly, he didn’t want to find out. He came to the basement to get his vitals recorded, didn't expect to find a breathless, moaning little Peter and his best friend going hard at it in the ring. He needed no more excuses to leave. “I gotta—,”

“Look,” Steve caught his arm and Bucky was sick of being barricaded, “you’re doing a noble thing for the kid. Just keep going and when it comes out you were part of his training, you know who will eventually give you his blessing.”

There was a pause.

“Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour?”

He was deadpan but the captain couldn’t look less impressed, letting go of his arm. “Stark.”

“Ch’yeah, alright.”

“It makes Nat happy, you know.” Steve shot his last resort, knowing it would stop the wolf in his tracks. The mention of one name and every hard edge he possessed was whittled to dust. He continued, “Seeing you two like this. Bucky c’mon man, you’re not laying in a field making daisy chains for each other,” Bucky glanced at the boy collecting his hoody, water bottle—, “remember why you started this in the first place.”

"I don’t need anybody’s blessing, I’m doing what’s right. Nothin’ more to it.”

“Is this because he figured out how to escape your grip last time?”

Bucky checked he heard right, “Because he _what_?”

“Your ego’s took a beat.”

The only thing that needed a beat, was his cock. Every damn time he was close to the kid. And now he were in nothing but flimsy black shorts and a t-shirt two times too big, he couldn’t risk being close enough to feel slender hands grabbing him, until he could trust himself to stop imagining what they’d feel like wrapped around his girth. “He told you that?”

Steve took a quick glance between himself and Peter. “Yeah.”

Like it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Clearly, he hadn’t divulged the full story because his friend wouldn’t be so calmly insisting they have another playful scrap.

For someone who never much minded hitting people with the truth be it uncomfortable, Bucky found himself hesitant. At a total lost for words as to why there was any _real_ reason he could refuse to do something that was of no apparent, physical lag to him.

He shuffles forward, “Bucky,” Begins without preamble, standing close enough now that no one is likely to overhear, “twenty minutes.” Before he could protest Steve stepped back and called over his shoulder at an _obstinate_ volume, “Twenty minutes!”

Peter jumped, made a vague expression.

He clapped a hand to Bucky’s back that had grown solid in the past three seconds, “Buck’s free for twenty minutes if you wanna do some more.” He clapped it again and if he did it a third, Bucky may just clap his jaw.

Peter sort of just stood there. Doe eyes blinking towards them whilst the Captain, _beamed._

“I’ll be over here.” He clapped his shoulder again and Bucky closed his eyes, nostrils flared. Centering the temper that wasn’t appropriate now he’d have to put his hands on the one person he shouldn’t. “I’ll get these done, good call Barnes.” He were convinced he’d already done his vitals. "I'll get going after, you can finish up and make sure he gets back." Plucked the monitor from his friend’s stiff grip regardless with a private smirk as he turned to the row of treadmills and began setting up. 

Fuck. Bucky pulls his shirt on, takes a deep but concealed breath before he goes over to the boy stood expectantly, arms now crossed with narrowed eyes. The walk was one of the longest yet, retracing every decision he’d made that landed him in this position right now, every wrong turn he’d catalogued and fucked up along the way.

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “This isn’t—,”

Not another word left his mouth before a fist lands in his gut.

Bucky reels back, eyes wide with a new found scorn in his chest. It was a pretty good punch, solid power behind it although inexperienced, and he didn’t see it coming. Literally. “What the hell was that?”

“How’s my form? Cap’s taught me a lot.”

Bucky palmed the ache on his abdomen, instinct flaring as he’d already lined up five different ways he could have the bitesize boy on the fucking floor. He looked back at a very obviously _smirking_ Steve. He wasn’t facing them but even from all the way on the other side of the room he could feel the smug joy.

Peter flexed his fingers where he’d clasped them innocently behind his back, eyes dipping to the pull of the man’s red shirt where he’d hit him. He disguised the sting well for the sake of a mini victory. Felt like hitting a brick wall.

“I see I’m not the only one who fights dirty.”

Peter’s giggle was unfair. The tip-top of the boy’s cheeks were flushed from exertion, now flecked with what Bucky had only just figured were the faintest freckles, damn the Spring sun. His cheeks filled up and out and his glossy eyes crinkled, lifting that titillating sound of infantile laughter. It had no business being so distracting to a Soldier who was trained to be everything but.

“You think that’s funny?” Bucky’s voice came out thick, swallowing it.

Peter bit his lip, doing his best to stunt the giggles immediately but failing.

“Huh?” The man prompted, stepping forward.

He was giggling when he shook his head in earnest, a damp curl falling loose from where he’d pushed it back. Bucky claps the side of his face. Hard enough to snap him out of it, to shock, but not enough to cause damage. If it were his metal arm however, he may be sporting a moderate red blemish to match his pretty blush.

Peter gasped, bringing his hand up to cover it. He pouted, lips wet and alarmingly pink and Bucky wanted to prise them open. By force. Wondered how they’d look stretched out, glistening with spit.

“Focus.”

It took a while for Peter to respond, nursing the _barely even there_ sting. “Y’Sir.”

Since a lifetime ago Bucky was used to being addressed respectfully. To the regular man and officials he’d been Sergeant, Boss, Sir. So the compliance shouldn’t have affected him the way it did.

He doesn't waste time with formalities and gets him shifting. He demands focus, finding the boy is faltering more than he has before and a few frail attempts later Bucky grows tired of the rookie errors. Peter’s panting and he takes little mercy in it, caving when the boy moves, dodges thinking he’s thrown a curve ball and uppercuts. He manages to jab the side of Bucky’s ribs but the man was on him too quickly; caught him by his wrists and spun him around, caging him against his chest with an arm tight across his neck. One singular rotation, and it’d snap. He made sure to pull the boy back, keeping his lower body out so he didn’t get any clever ideas about swinging him over the top or other, crafty moves.

It bothered Bucky how he scented so sweet after all that effort, after going those hard rounds with Rogers. There was a thread of sweat in there somewhere, but it was stained with a fresh, citrus glaze that made his mouth pool.

“ _C’moooon_ ,” Peter’s whine was petulant, “how do I— _mh_ , how do I get out of this?” He was flailing, hand gripping the metal cinctured around his throat.

“Remember what I taught you.”

Bucky was really trying to not inhale too deeply for his peace of mind.

“Bu— _oh my_ ,” Peter wanted to tap out when the arm around him squeezed and his tiptoes danced on the floor like they were scared they’d never meet it again. “Okay, okay,” His voice was soft, strained, but soft. He suddenly stopped struggling and went oddly lax in the hold, accepting it, even. Bucky narrows his eyes and clutches him closer. This wasn’t trustworthy behaviour, not coming from Peter. “W-what you taught me last time you had me like this?”

Behind them, Rogers was _staring._

Peter founded all the acrobatic strength he could and used Bucky’s own strength against him, tightened his core, secured his grip atop the formidable forearm and _hoisted_ his lower body up and over Bucky’s head in a backwards crunch. It was difficult to coordinate when air supply was being deteriorated and Peter fell dizzy when he’d plonked himself atop Bucky’s shoulders. But boy it was worth it.

For about two seconds he was King of the world, thighs automatically tightening to grapple the Soldier’s head, hands barely making purchase in his hair before his entire body was thrown forward and slapped onto the mat. It would be something to argue about later whether the man could’ve gone easier on him, Peter was too busy trying to collect the oxygen back into his lungs to bother right now.

“Good boy.” Bucky’s comment threw him off harder.

He was wincing back to a stand and looked up at the man.

Bucky nodded, “I was expecting a blow to my instep,” coming close enough that Peter was using _every_ ounce of his will to not drop his eyes, “but I’m impressed.”

Dazed, Peter shook his head clearing the dizzy effect around his eyes but not, unfortunately from his tummy. He did as told, wanting to do everything right from then on to get that _look_ again from the larger male. Wanted to chase that feeling, the pleasurable surge of whatever it was that came with Bucky’s satisfaction.

“Center yourself,” He says abruptly, rolling his shoulders.

Peter stared for a second. 

" _Focus._ " Bucky clapped and all the new found confidence Peter had adopted, vanished.

He’d begun pacing around Peter properly now and it made him aware of every muscle in his body. Peter adjusted his stance to the most natural he could without questioning and follows the crisp shade of grey examining from head to toe until he went beyond his scope. Behind him, Bucky was silent. Peter wanted to turn around. Knew better. Knew Bucky was assessing every weakness he had both physically and, mentally.

“Good,” It came again, “your balance is in your core, here.” He demonstrates across his own body coming back into view; large hands bracketing his stomach and hips. “Mine is higher, along here.” Then to his chest and shoulders. “You’ll do well to remember that when it comes to opposition. Means the way I fight is going to be different from the way you do. Once you get the balance down, you start to have the upper hand.”

“How?” Peter was listening intently. He hadn’t moved, didn’t want to.

A long sigh fell through Bucky’s nose, running a calloused hand over his stubble. He risked a glance at Steve who wasn’t there anymore.

“As I've always said, the key to a fight isn’t always being stronger than the other person, it’s using what you have that the other person doesn’t and counteracting it.” Bucky motioned to Peter’s body, “You’re strong, but small. Light. Flexible. That means you can get in, under and around people,” Now he motioned to himself, “in a way people of six foot plus and 230lbs, can’t.”

Peter felt a weight on his tongue. Bucky’s build was nothing if not formidable, functional. The very strength he spoke of came to life under the pale skin of his bicep, both biceps, the mounds of his shoulders, the solid foundation of his chest. A torso that Peter now had confirmation was solid. And warm. His muscles were manufactured through training and years of experience, discipline and— torture. He didn’t want to think about that. If he thought too long it reminded him of why he was so apprehensive of the man in the first place and he didn’t want to slide back that way. 

Mr Stark settled into his mind for a moment and he felt _guilty_.

“So,” He tore himself from it, “alright, but say I want to _win_ the fight, not just evade it.” Mischievous brown eyes honed in on him, light and breezy with a small smile.

Bucky huffs a laugh and Peter nearly staggered, pretty sure it was _genuine_ and he were responsible for it. Of course Peter wants to rush to the good bit. He should’ve expected the question a lot sooner in hindsight with the boy’s tongue becoming a lot more testing around him as of late. “That comes later.”

“But _Buckyyy_ ,” Every time he says his name it’s like learning a new language.

“Enough.” Bucky, shushes him. “You have to learn how to escape a fight unharmed first, then, if necessary learn how to get balls deep in one.”

"You think I could win, Bucky?"

Hm. "I don't know if you want to."

Peter stepped back with every step his counterpart took forward. "Why, not?"

"Because you don't think things through." 

It wasn't going to go down well ever, when Peter gave off a half committed acknowledgement with current company. He hummed, mind hazing over while salacious thoughts took full focus. Bucky snapped his fingers, Peter's back hitting the brick wall. He looked up at the man inches away from him. 

"Because you don't pay attention," He leant into an arm, making sure Peter understood the infliction if he moved, "too easily distracted, easy to fluster."

The boy's eyes were wide, "I-," 

He was given chance to finish, Bucky being the generous brute he is tilted his head, ducked it to meet the boy's gaze and kept it. "Go on."

Nothing passed his mouth, it were open, closed, swallowed. Lips parted again by a fraction but he shook his head, squirming.

"No?"

"N-," Embarrassing.

Bucky peered down at the fingers tugging at his shirt. It was perilously evident he had no idea what to do with them, _pulling_ at Bucky like he needed him to be closer, needed something, anything the man would give him. He decides they'd look perfect trying to wrap around his cock. 

"You can't even finish a sentence, how're you going to make it to the end of a fight, mh?" Bucky tutted, leering at those small hands balling the material of his shirt, "Look at you." Peter couldn't, he just whined, closed his eyes for a second at the pull in his navel. "Too presumptuous. You push and pull but don't have the stamina to see it through. Tease what you _think_ you want, what your inexperienced little baby brain thinks you can handle," Peter's breath hitched at the thigh pressed between his, looking distraughtat the sound he made when Bucky's bulk _forced_ him up onto his tiptoes, "but when you get it, you don't have a fucking clue what to do with it do you?"

" _No,_ "

"No?" The man wanted to bite him, suck on his mouthwateringly unscathed skin, lips. Taste his tears as they rolled while he violated and _took_. "No what?"

"I can hand-," God, the boy'd never felt pressure like that on his taint before, "focus, I want- I c-can focus,"

"You can focus?"

Peter bit his lip, sweat making everything damp, their proximity making it too warm, Bucky's voice too low and patronising making him want to cry. He tried to nod, tried so hard to obey and speak he really did.

Peter peeped as his hands were slammed by his side, Bucky's breath billowing over the sensitive spot below his ear. "Dumb baby," he was shaking, humiliated, his poor little cock neglected and straining at the mercy of Bucky's thigh, "you haven't even realised I've had you all to myself for five whole minutes." 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So your comments have me peeling myself off the CEILING, Lord give me strength. I'm in love with all of you, you all have my weak sparrow heart the support is unreal.

For the last three to four years, Peter’s world had altered on a magnitude that was incomprehensible in many ways. Both good and bad; just as many doors had opened as those which were slammed in his face. He had to relearn his surroundings, evolve with his ever changing new reality to adapt and finesse something he will probably never be fully equipped to do despite coming this far. But despite being in a unique situation compared to most teenagers around the world, he had one, major thing in common with his fellow youth. He were still navigating a crucial part of the developmental stage of his life across all boards; a universal denominator he didn’t expect to have to tackle on this pressurised level. His libido. His stupid, overactive, confusing, _exhausting_ libido. He had never been sexually affluent, didn’t think he had any outstanding hormone levels that would be considered abnormal either, just, by the general consensus of his best friends and what he reads on the internet it seemed he were functioning at a normal level of _horny_ when the feeling did hit. That was until Bucky Barnes waltzed into his life and made him question everything about the world of sex as he knew it.

By choice, his skin was unaccustomed to the touch of another man. He’d had crushes before but never enough to want _that_. He’d never wanted that. For as far back as he could remember, winding back to meeting him in Berlin and since uncovering his bludgeoned ledger he never even _liked_ him. But now his world was evolving yet again and his head spun from trying to keep up. He couldn’t even trust his own body, no faith in the involuntary pull to the encompassing lure of a dangerous man.

Dangerous, in every sense. Bucky hadn’t even laid a hand on him and he were a tangled mess against that wall. He built him up to a point he had no intention of bringing him back down from and left him bare, and if the boy hadn’t had his sense knocked out of him he’d have protested. He wanted to climb his torso and surround himself with the muscle that had retracted itself from his body. Peter wanted to succumb to whatever vulgar intension lay behind Bucky’s qualified hands. He wanted to reach and grab and pull and tear and chase the part of him that Bucky exposed with _no_ effort, the control he established without preface, the vulnerability he knew Bucky could take advantage of but _didn’t._

Peter was half lidded to his surroundings after the bulk had been removed from his trembling body.

Fuck his phone.

Steve had left, he’d gone and he didn’t know when or why. He had a car waiting outside, he knew that much because the grainy vibration from the bench popped both their bubbles in those lingering moments after the man stepped back. Bucky knew that too. No confirmation was needed as to who was lit up on his screen. Prized pet Parker was still on a curfew, a time limit to all activities outside the compound and it wasn’t to be surpassed. The discipline instilled in the soldier was something Peter would never acquire, ever. He’d dropped his body like he were never on it, stepped away with no visible traces of reluctance and it sort of pinched. Everywhere he was jelly and muddled, Bucky was taut and put together.

“Hustle, or your chauffeur’s going to bust in here.” It was curt and dismissive as though what had just happened _hadn’t_.

What.

He was affected, he was just as affected as Peter surely. The mouth watering bulge swelling his crotch assured that and Peter shouldn’t have looked. He shouldn’t have looked because he was right and he had to move but if he did that he was entirely confident his brain wouldn’t coordinate with his appendages and he wouldn’t end up a horny heap on the floor. He didn’t, _couldn’t_ answer. All basic functional communications extracted without will. Eventually, Peter silently— carefully, shuffled over to the bench and bundled up his hoodie, his water bottle. Kept glancing at Bucky. He folded and held them limply in front of his body in a hollow attempt to compensate for the state he were in.

Couldn’t stop staring at the man as he went about clearing the area, tidying up the mats, putting equipment back like it were routine.

“Bucky?”

Peter dropped his water bottle when his phone rang again and he picked it up, hurriedly. Nearly dropped it again, caught it awkwardly. He only remembered to jab —what was meant to be the accept button— the reject button because Bucky looked at it incredulously and waited for him to move, to get up those steps and leave so he could do the same shortly after, undetected. 

Was this a test? Peter didn’t know how to react to anything he experienced. The ride to the compound was a back and forth between reciting the coercive husk in his ear and stunting his own arousal with a gaping sense of rejection. What he expected Bucky to do was beyond him. He was adhering to the rules, he couldn’t loiter around or else this whole thing would go to pot and Mr Stark would be livid. Peter locked himself away as soon as he hit his bedroom, flopped onto the mattress with a guttural sound and curled up to keep the tears at bay. The borders of right and wrong were blurred now and what had felt like forbidden now feels like oppression and he squirmed into himself, conflicted once again as he recalled the way Bucky had looked at him, the swell in his cock, the brazen lust.

Peter stretched out and flattened himself face down. He wasn’t sure the mattress would muffle the scream.

He didn’t know why he was reacting the way he was to Bucky or why he felt bankrupt of all control, like a silent exchange had happened back in that room and this was the beginning of a test. He didn’t understand what he was meant to _do_ because he’d never been here before and by all accounts he shouldn’t be. He needed to figure something out and what he should definitely _not_ do as that was utmost important because he didn’t want to mess it up. Whatever _it_ was.

All night he remained wide awake, drifting off somewhere around 3AM only to wake again around 5. Even when slumber pulled him under he couldn’t escape in his dreams, rose tinted imagery flush with gentle touches, kisses on his neck, his jaw, itchy scratch of stubble buffered by a tickle of brown hair. Peter woke up with a start— with a giggle lodged in his throat and wiggled his nose. Flat on his back the inky blueish blackness of his room dawned with sticky, blinking eyes and he turned over, tried to groan but nothing came out. His voice was lost, probably still floating around in his subconscious with Bucky.

And he remained that way until dawn, too fatigued to tend his arousal.

Sat at his desk hours later the welcome lull of sleep hit him like a truck. Just like MJ’s elbow.

“ _Peter._ ”

“Mrgh— H-appy has the potatoes,” Peter’s head was up, one eye open from the soft support of his folded arms.

“Potatoes?”

_Oh shit._

The neutrons in Peter’s brain collectively zipped together quick time to process that voice and look forward with both eyes open.

Mr Beck was stood holding a bunch of paper in one hand, an expectant stare on his face. “Who, or what is Happy and what’re they planning on doing with the potatoes?”

His first thought was to give him a literal answer, the remnants of his dream still fresh in his mind but then better sense caught his sleepy brain in just enough time to _stop_ all current instincts. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, saw MJ rolling her eyes as he stammered out an apology to the Professor stood oddly tall before him.

The stack of papers were dropped on his desk which Peter only _just_ moved his fingers in time to dodge. “See me after class Parker.”

After class, came round depressingly fast.

MJ bumped his shoulder on the way out, “Don’t sweat it, he likes you.”

“I’m fine?” He hitched his backpack strap defensively, “I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow, “You look like you have tape pinning your eyelids back.”

Peter was about to retort but she spotted Mr Beck over his shoulder and tipped her chin, “I’ll uh, see you later. Don’t forget to blink.”

“Parker.”

He hated his name being declared like that. He already knew he were in deep shit he didn’t need to be reprimanded by the tone of voice too. Turning, he wrung his hands around that strap and tried to look attentive, mouth opening to address him but, he continued.

“Are you alright?” He stopped at his desk, half sat half stood, looking at him like a concerned parent not a professor who was about to scold him for dismissing his teaching.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” He echoed, like he were giving him a chance to change his mind.

“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m usually out like a light at eleven because I have the sleep schedule of a toddler,” Turns out he needed sleep to enable that part of his brain that tells him when to stop speaking, “honestly, I just,” He didn’t know how to stop, “it’s fine there’s nothing to worry about.” He pocketed his hands, rocked on his heels. He looked just as awkward as he felt. “Sorry Sir.”

Mr Beck, however, was smiling at him over the rim of his glasses. A moment was allowed to pass while he absorbed it and took a deep breath through his teeth which startled Peter, removing the spectacles. It was all very quiet but somewhat easy to feel the judgement dripping whilst he waited for the _not good enough_ speech to strike next. He’d been falling behind in bio tech since it started because of his move to the compound, because of all things Spider-Man related that he could absolutely under no circumstances talk about to anyone, so it were left to him to fit an excuse together as to why he, a top performing student, was below par. Then he goes and falls asleep in his damn class.

“Peter, when I assigned you the project between Mr Barnes and myself I did it because I knew your potential is great, I thought you could handle the—,”

“Oh Sir, I can _definitely_ —,”

“Let me finish,” He held up the hand still pinching the spectacles, “I believed you’d have no trouble coping with the work load. I also believed, that the knowledge you’ve acquired while working for Stark Industries would be the perfect fit and ally. This will look good Peter. On your record.” There was nothing comforting about him in the way there usually was but he wasn’t threatening either, Peter just felt terrible guilt. “But if you can’t handle it alongside your other projects, you _have_ to be honest with me sweetie.”

The pet name didn’t settle into his skin like a warm remedy the way Bucky’s did.

He didn’t have to think over his answer, didn’t hesitate with wanting to spread thick reassurance that he were coping just fine and it was nothing to do with the burden of extra work, “I promise you, the work isn’t too much. Things— outside things have been getting on top of me but it’s not your work, I’m _so_ grateful for the opportunity Sir I wouldn’t jeopardise it for anything. I promise.”

Like a puppy dog waiting for its owner Peter was teetering for him to respond, desperate for it sink in and there be no further doubt from the Professor who was stood now, Lording over him from that height. Bucky’s voice laced through his mind; _almost everyone will have a height and size advantage on you_.

Mr Beck wasn’t an _opponent._

Peter shook his head to the thought, realised he’d done it literally, when Beck regarded him with ambiguity.

“Alright.” He answered at length, “I like you Peter, I really do. But if there’s one more slip I’ll have to consider some, disciplinary action.”

Peter was quick on the uptake. “Yes Sir,” Nodding, “I understand.”

“Hopefully,” He pointed his spectacles towards him, “it won’t,” tapped them on his chest, “have to come to that.”

The professor was never someone who you’d hurry to get out the room with, no one ever made their excuses to be excused from his presence. Everyone swam in adoration for the mogul and his artistry and the fact they now had chance to be taught by him? Everybody shut up and listened. He’d only been a teacher there for five months; started not long after Peter had actually, and had fast become the favourite amongst students. Peter was in the kind of awe of him that he was for Tony, but he were missing something, a fragment of whatever it was that made Tony’s eyes kind and Mr Beck’s not.

“Oh and Peter?”

Fingers clung to the door frame, pulled himself back.

“You haven’t had any more trouble from anyone have you?”

“Trouble, Sir?”

“Those boys, those horrible, horrible boys.” His remorseful words didn’t match the tone in his voice. “I know they’ve since been removed but what they did to y—,”

“No Sir.” Peter hadn’t thought about that in a couple days. He shook his head and forced a smile onto his face, something he’d never had to do before with Mr Beck. “All good.”

*

The next time Peter saw him, it wasn't expected.

It was a rare sight to find Peter leaving on time pre-compound, but staying _this_ late was certainly not routine. MJ had called him insane, Ned said he was running himself into the ground and they’d both concluded he was going to burn out if he stayed anymore time overdue.  But they didn't understand the pressure he were under, he had deadlines to meet and Mr Beck to pacify so after begging Happy to _not_ tell Tony and to please let him have a couple hours at the college after his late class, his tracker was disabled and he were granted it. 

But now it was 9:45PM and he were back at the compound after a long, exhausting day. Sighing, he slumped steadily through the dark to the kitchen, the only light coming from the thin LEDs along the floor he occupied and one row of low lit ceiling spot lights that lined the front half of the room. This was his third coffee in two and a half hours. Although sleep had been a distant dream, ironically, for the past couple weeks. He doesn’t remember what ‘a good night sleep’ feels like. He even added a spoon of sugar to add to the insomniac kink.

Setting the mug down on the coaster he felt elegant as in the same move he managed to jump up onto the bar stool but the angle he fell at scrubbed that immediately and he landed sort of half on the side, half _off_ the stool. But for a second, he didn’t care. For that small second, he stayed in the awkward position, accepting his fate as probably one of the most ungraceful creatures on the planet, arms hanging loose over the counter, eyes slipping close for the _teeniest_ moment to play with idea of sleep when they shot back open instantly.

“Oh for _fuck_ -,” Huffing at the non hilarity of his own joke doing a 180 flip, he pushed himself up in the chair- which took longer than he would admit, and grabbed his coffee mug.

All it took was one sip, so small his tongue barely kitten licked the rim, for him to withdraw and splutter. He choked lightly and winced as he sat it back down.

Next time, he’ll be sure to take the salt back out of the sugar canister and reverse his practical joke. It was grand watching Nat, Bruce and Wanda nearly gag around an ample mouthful of salt coffee but now he'd tasted his own medicine he was misery and karma rolled into one.

He was already padding with adorably socked feet, offensive cup in hand, back to the sink mumbling to himself. “…If you’re going to prank someone make su—,”

“Make sure your victim isn’t smarter than you?”

What was worse than warm, salty, coffee? _Dropping_ warm, salty, coffee. Accompanied by a very real and extremely unobscured scream.

Pivoting on his heels, he felt his heart jack hammering against his ribs when he saw the face he least wanted to see in a) this situation, b) alone and c) at this god forsaken sleep deprived hour.

“ _Bucky?_ ”

“Why do you always do that?” He replied, head cocking to the side a touch as he jingled what Peter presumed were a set of keys between long fingers. He looked a little haunting in the dim lighting, the way it touched on his features highlighted their severity almost majestically. He was decked out in black on the bottom with a grey sweatshirt on top.

"What?"

Bucky glanced over to Peter's spread on the counter.  “Say my name like that. Even when you should expect me to appear you always,” He rolled his hand, “seem so alarmed.”

“I normally sense you a mile away but—,” He wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but every cell of his stubborn will wanted to give him no such joy. “And I am smart.”

He let the hand that’d been clutching his chest drop, only now looking at the spillage on the floor as he fell to his knees to collect the cup.

Nat called through from the lounge, not bothering to turn her head, "Everything alright in there?"

" _Yeaaah_ , yep just dropped a cup!" 

Bucky's boots came to a scuffing stop before him and it was all Peter could do to not look up.

“Need help?”

“No,” Peter realised he still had his webs around his wrists, activated them to yank a towel towards him, "I got it."

He wasn't moving and it unnerved him.

Peter looked up. "What?"

He cared not about holding his stare any longer, feeling weird on his knees like that and started to pull himself up, dusting off his thin sweater when he stood. He disguised his inability to not meet Bucky’s eye as mere disinterest but it wasn’t even close to the truth; he’d been plaguing his mind every second of the day. But there was something incredibly intimidating about him at this hour. It suddenly hit him that they were alone but _not_ , never quite alone enough to be fully alone and it was beginning to frustrate the teenager. However, it were still after hours, his phone on the counter behind and Bucky— just Bucky. 

He felt uncomfortable, clearing his throat to fill the void where Bucky's reply should’ve been.

“What do you want?”

Thoughts clearing, they were replaced with ones equally inappropriate.

Peter stared at the crew neck of his sweater, followed the line of his neck, his stubbly jaw. His eyes fluttered upwards, passing the now shattered mug between his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek, unbeknown to the boy eliciting his discomfort was fast becoming one of Bucky’s favourite things.

“I,” There were a husk in his voice that had his eyes up now though, “came to tell you it's bedtime Princess.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know.”

Silence settled, Peter’s stomach twisting uncomfortably again.

"How did you even know I was here?"

The way he looked at him made it feel as though he were being judged, jaw tensing a couple times before he answered. "I've been sat with Nat for an hour." He looked past the partition at the other end of the kitchen to make his point. "Heard you tumble in and decided it was time to go." Nat was still there, television flickering light into the otherwise pitch black room.

Peter quickly made a mental note to not turn his back on him.

"So, go to bed," Bucky pointed to the floor where there were still a couple shards of porcelain, “make sure you don't cut your toes.”

“I need to work.”

The man shook his head once, blue eyes twinkling, “You’ve done enough.”

The finality in his voice was not appreciated. 

"I can't aff-,"

"Bed."

"Exc-,"

"Are you arguing with me?"

Peter looked at him, looking quite lost just stood there cradling the broken mug. There were a million things he wanted to say but he couldn't. A thousand more he shouldn't say but _needed_ to. Natasha wasn't of super hearing like the Soldier but it was too risky to pick up the conversation where they'd abruptly left off. Huffing, he popped the trash can and discarded it. 

“ _Alright fine_.”

He wasn’t polite about clearing away the papers Bucky were viewing right from under his nose, the man following his snappy actions with bemused half smirk.

“You’re adorable you know.” He reached out to seize the last piece of parchment Peter were rolling, pulling him forward with one arm.

The sudden closeness got Peter hiccuping over his words, staring at the strong hand around the band of his paper to the full lips at his eye level. Bucky smelt different, he noted. His usual cologne was missing, substituted with something more musky but just as pleasant. Masculine.

He was tired.

“Thanks, Sir.” He licked his lips, titling his head up to fuse his deepest brown with the wildest blue.

He was ecstatic when he saw the effect that had on him, fearing his facade would fade soon if he didn’t carry on quickly.

“Peter.”

“Why do you always do that?”  Bucky’s lips were rather nice though, full, curved. He didn't respond.  “Say my name like that,” Things were flowing so nicely, he couldn’t help the elated smile blossoming as he leant in closer, “like you want to punish me.”

Hands were on his wrists instantaneously, digging into the ridge of the countertop. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Him? He'd left him flushed, high and dry last time. He'd left him for _days_ wondering what the hell he'd done wrong and he'd probably enjoyed every second of that knowledge. He wan't going to waste this upper hand while he had it, never thought he could get this sultry without a stutter but it felt naughty and exhilarating and his adrenaline was sky high. A high that he’d only ever reached with Bucky. 

Peter's eyes shot over to Nat's position and the weight on his wrists lifted. 

His hands were released along with a strained noise from Bucky that made him glaze over again, resonating in the pit of his tummy.

“M’gonna fucking kill you.”

“Or I will you,” Peter pushed with all his strength so Bucky had to stand back, “e-either way.”

Whether he were doing it deliberately or was unaware of his lack of subtly, it was like Peter was fixed to the action as the man palmed his groin harshly, digging the heel into the sizeable bulge too much for it to be comfortable surely.

“I _knew_ y-,”

Bucky’s presenting spun sickeningly fast, pointing a finger. “Don’t.”

“Bu—,”

“ _No_.” That was definitely final.

“Why does everything that comes out of your mouth sound like a threat?”

“Because everything that comes out of yours is a challenge.”

His head buzzed, his heart raced. But he was giddy. Mouth filling with saliva as his adrenaline scorched. Peter’d just managed to level up. He knew it was wrong, the sane voice that he’d batted to the side earlier was back in full force and begging him to be realistic, to be sensical and hold it together until a better time.

“What _is it_ with you?” Bucky’s voice couldn’t grow too much. 

He couldn't overthink it. He couldn't let that hazy feeling building in his tummy, fluttering behind his chest win again. 

“Puppy's got bite, you said it yourself.”

Peter slapped the towel into his chest, satisfied with the short puff of air through his nose as he shouldered past his bicep. He called to Nat that he were going to bed, collected his load of papers and left.  He didn’t hear Bucky, head hung as he wrung the item in his hands until some of the threads gave way.

“Someone needs to put a stop to that.”

*

The following time, Peter'd had enough.

The noise could only mean one thing. The lack of it, that is. Peter had received the email the night before to go meet the professor at 4PM when his class had finished. Strictly, under no circumstance were to be late so that meant even if the lecture overspilled he were to dismiss himself and direct any reluctance from the teacher— Mrs Shrewsbury, to him. After his sleeping incident in class Peter wasn’t going to risk messing this up.

He arrived outside the bio tech lab with absolutely nothing but his backpack and himself. He didn’t even need the backpack for his lecture in all honesty, he was so overcompensating for whatever this meeting meant; he’d brought his laptop, his tablet, his notes from the prototype he were making at the compound, a digital copy of all measures that’d failed and counteracted Mr Beck’s, too many pens and an apple. His tummy grumbling reminded him that that was still in there, waiting.

The hallway had been blocked off by the _bodyguards_ again. This time there were more of them and all Peter could think on was what Bucky’d told him about their position. They weren’t there to protect Bucky, they were there to kill him if necessary. He wondered who had authorised this, who had sanctioned this level of protection in a College. Surely Mr Beck wouldn’t want anymore unnecessary attention drawn to his location or his private doings while on site, he wouldn’t want to intimidate the Soldier after all, wouldn’t want to set off on the wrong foot with a client of such high profiling. It just didn’t make sense to him no matter which angle he looked from.

Peter was granted access from the back, away from the college kids who’d got wind and sight of the Winter Soldier passing through the private carpark this time in a bid to minimise exposure; something that is impossible in the age of mobile communication, picture phones and instant messaging. Everything had a carbon print, a track, an instant digital access and Mr Barnes profile was passed immediately among groups; the blurred figure ducking from the SUV to the back entrance.

“Sir.”

The tingle was back on his skin, but he couldn’t see anyone but two ladies in lab coats and Mr Beck, who slunk around from his chair to greet the boy on entry.

He pushed into the lab with the Professor as he showed him what he’d accomplished in the past 24 hours.

“Forgive me if I’m a little erratic, but I seem to have taken a page out of your book and not slept very much in the past few days,” He kept running his hands through his hair which made him look rather manic, “progress, Peter. Progress comes at the sacrifice of comfort.”

That hit the boy in a place he didn’t expect it.

He was all over the place, talking about _immunity issues_ , _peptides_ and the aerobics of the synthetic material he were exhibiting on the dummy arm displayed across the bench. Not that Peter’d had optimum opportunity to measure any part of Bucky’s anatomy in detail, but the limb looked frightfully accurate. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Peter lowered his phone from taking a picture, “I…” _Really hope you don’t_ , “what do you mean?”

“How did I get something so anatomically correct. Don’t worry, when it comes to the final fit we have the biometric scanner to ensure all seals are water tight, we can,” His fingers were flexing around the mould, moving the holographic imaging next to it, “well, we can figure that out when it comes to it but what matters Peter, what _matters_ is that we have a sturdy contender.” He smiled, waved his phone away, “Don’t bother with that, you’ll have an email sent with all and any necessary pictures, just remember to cite them in the standard way.”

A bang had both of them looking up and Peter’s heart did something that made him want to shrink below sea level.

If Bucky felt anything, he didn’t show it. Just joined them at the bench in that usual unabashedly stoic manner, nodded.

“So when is it going to be safe to apply?”

Mr Beck dove into a plethora of cautionary information about more tests needing to be done, axis needing to be cross referenced before it were applied to his actual body, an index of terminology Peter heard day in day out in his studies that would usually have him angling to learn more and hook, but despite looking right at Mr Beck, he wasn’t taking a single word in.

The faint blue light from the hologram made Bucky’s irises look silver, the glow from it highlighting the strong lines and hardened corners. His eyes kept slipping to the side to sneak a glance and zipping straight back forward when the man moved or became animated in any way. He was pathetically infatuated and restrained.

“And look, Peter,” Mr Beck was moving around to stand next to Bucky, getting him to roll his short sleeve over his shoulder, “you see what I mean? The biometrics work wonders but if you’re ever unsure you can fall back on the bricks and mortar methods, wrap a tape measure around the limb an-,"

"Nah, I think Peter can trust—,”

“I wouldn’t mind actually.”

Mr Beck regarded them both; Bucky’s face thankfully angled in a way it rendered unreadable.

After a brief instruction on how to use the specific type of biometric scanner, Peter was next to the soldier and sizing him up. Nearly pressing a button he shouldn’t have, Mr Beck was _on_ him for a second, yanking the device from the oblivious boy and relaying the instructions to him slowly, until one the girls over the far side near what looked like a large fish tank called him over.

“Don’t fry Mr Barnes.” He winked at him and Peter missed the twitch in Bucky’s expression, too busy fiddling with the tiny gadget or pretending to at least until he were confident his teacher was out of ear shot.

“Mr Barnes.” Peter smiled, “Hi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Curse his hushed voice for being even more lucrative than his regular, “makes me feel old.”

Peter gently moved his arm so his metal palm lay flat on the bench, “You are.”

The mechanical ridges shifted and locked into place and Peter jumped at the movement, pretty damn sure the man did it on purpose for his cheek. Swallowing, he hovered the device atop his bicep and it latched immediately like a magnet, also making him jump. Bucky grinned.

Peter cleared his throat, tapping the tablet next to Bucky’s palm as the scanning measurements translated onto screen. He checked over his shoulder to see both girls and his Professor fully occupied. He made a little shape with his mouth, licking his lips. Biting them, sort of, shuffling on the spot all the while trying to decide if he could get safely closer to Bucky despite there being an inch of air between them.

“Spit it out.”

The gadget pinged and Peter huffed a breath through his nose. Released it. “Are you going to act like nothing happened or—,”

Bucky stood up, flexing both wrists. “I don’t act.”

The boy all but stomped his foot, dropping the device to the bench, checked over his shoulder again and tipped his chin up to meet those eyes. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“This,” Trying to be intimidating in a hush was hard work, “all of this.”

Being any shade of intimidating at all for someone like him was yet to be geared.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _Yes…_ ” He check again, “yes you do. You— you had, you did the— in the basement you _know_ —,”

“You can’t even say it.”

Peter sighed, closed the tabs on the screen and closed in on Bucky who, of course, didn’t budge an inch. “You wanna get on your tippy toes so I really feel your rage?”

The noise he made had the man grinning, again. He was wallowing in the discomfort, his inability to be frank and forthright about anything that he wanted was half the reason he didn’t touch him. He was laying out a course for Peter to navigate to _show_ him he had more to him that a virginal stammer, to prove to him, that he knew exactly what he was going to get himself into if that line were ever crossed. Peter had always had the protection of Tony's bubble surrounding him, the filtered spiel fed to him on a drip about what's right and wrong, the babying that came with being a billionaire's favourite student. No, Bucky needed to see there was substance behind it all. He needed to be proven wrong about Peter being too young, too fragile, too naive, too amateur for this world. He needed the boy to speak without fear of his puppet master.

Although, Peter’s virginal virtue was an ache in his groin.

But Bucky needed certification before crucifixion.

Peter’s fingers were at the hem of his shirt again, hidden from view of suspecting bystanders and Bucky peered at them.

“Do you want me?”

Three seconds was about all it took for the man’s will to fracture.

“Do I want you?”

Peter nodded, Bucky wasn’t sure he were realising he were steadily leaning forward, his eyes doing that thing were they glaze over again and it was _really_ taking every shred of will power to not hitch him up and sink his cock into his desperate little hole. “That’s not an answer you need verifying.”

"Please, just-,"

"You weren't this delicate the other night."

Someone came into the room then and the contraption made a louder noise than was necessary, enough to startle the boy into letting go of his distressed fumbling but not enough to snap him out of the lullaby disguised as two crippling eyes and a heartbeat.

Soon as he'd let go and the stranger had joined Mr Beck on the other side of the room, he coiled his fingers around two of Bucky’s, “Please,” The digits feeling thick in his palm. Now even he checked to see if they had an audience. “Bucky it’s not funny.”

“Thing is little peach,” Bucky laced their fingers together, “I’m not mocking you, I’m waiting.”

“What _for_?” It was almost a whine, the longer the boy seemingly spent in Bucky’s presence the less aware he became of his surroundings; unable to resist the pull of everything the unwrought masculinity bore down on him.

“I ain’t risking it all just to pop your horny cherry,” Peter flushed an almost instant shade of pink, _horrified._

“How’d you kn—,”

“Spare me.” Bucky dropped their hands, “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me what you want, you can’t even say it, without blushing.” Mr Beck was moving and he grabbed his jacket from the chair, “You want something, you tell me with your big boy words and you be clear about it.”

The professor joined them again and it was with bitter reluctance that Peter unstuck himself from the web of cloudy, dreamy arousal. His pulse echoed in his ears and he just about caught the tail end of Mr Barnes announcing he was running late. Mr Beck was speaking but he couldn't hear it, could only hear the words _big boy_ , only feel their contrasting fingers slotting together and it felt good, so, so painfully good. 

*

“How’s your ass?”

If it weren’t for being upright and perfectly balanced, Peter would’ve fallen off the ledge. Holding his camera steady between both hands he found Mr Stark squinting up at him, hands pocketed, wearing a crisply tailored suit.

“What?”

“Your ass, is it sore?”

Bells rang in all corners of his mind, his heart rate _shot_. “S-sir?”

“Kid,” He exasperated, waving him down, “can you come join us back on earth so I can talk without straining my voice.”

Peter was light movements and grace. For the landing at least, throwing his leg over the wall didn’t come without a wrestling match involving his headphones and camera strap. He would use wireless ones but they always seemed to drop out while he swung and he’d like to keep the tally of misplaced headphones to a low five. Mr Stark looked smart, the dishevelled kind of smart that told Peter it’d been a long five days in Boston and he was glad to be back from the slog of business courtesies.

“So?”

Peter blinked. “Hm?”

“God, you’re killing me— your training. Steve, is he kicking your ass?”

Thank fuck. “ _Oh_ right uh, yeah,” He tried not to overdo the nonchalance, “yeah yeah he’s putting me through my paces, yeah. Really uh, sore,” Peter scuffed his feet on the pavement walking up to him, beamed. “Hi, I missed you.”

“You missed me last time.”

“I’ll miss you _every_ time. That’s two trips in one and a half months, that’s a lot.”

Stark smiled, held his arm out and without hesitation the boy hugged him. Tony was going for a side cuddle sort of clap on the back but ended up with a small spider stuck to his front instead. He was used to it, joining him in a hug albeit brief. “Yeah well, I’ve missed the solitude. Think I’ve forgotten how to socialise after being cooped up in these four walls for the past couple of months, things were _dragging_.”

Tony Stark, the introverted extrovert. It was one of the things he admired most about the man; his ability to flick the switch between his core self among friends where he’s quiet and at ease, to the extravagant quick-witted business man he portrays in front of the cameras. He didn’t have a choice of being shoved into the spotlight but he made the choice to do something with it and maintain an image. The thought of all that pressure alone made Peter’s gut tumble.

“I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed.” Peter hung his camera around his neck, smiling.

After the obligatory roundup of his studies, _yes_ he was keeping up with Mr Yoling’s three week mark and _yes_ he had remembered to press send on the email instead of archive. Yes, he has been managing well with all deadlines and keeping his head in the freshman game— they filtered off. Tony mentioned wanting to show him something later, an unidentified, non specific _later_ because the man was visibly exhausted and Peter knew it would probably end up overspilling into tomorrow while he recouped with Pepper around the comfort of his own space. 

Peter had set it up pretty nicely and if he were being truthful, it felt brilliant. It were exhilarating to be breaking the rules a little bit. Not a lot, just a little. It was Friday which meant his schedule was already aligned; everyone expected him to be in the City with Cap soon so there would be zero suspicion of his whereabouts. The thing is, Mr Rogers had already cancelled tonight because of an unforeseen circumstances which meant he’d be out of town for a couple days which Peter’d insisted he’d tell Stark and _pass on the message_ before he hung up without ado. His mission plan primarily was to get to the City before Steve touched down in Texas and had the chance to check in with Tony.

Soon as Cap got intel on where he’d have to be, Bucky refused the chance to coach the boy by himself. Expected.

But Peter remained enthused. He accepted what Steve had said and said he’d just see them both next week on schedule.

_‘Oh well :( thanks anyway Steve. Same time same place next week?’_

_‘Sure thing kid. Stay safe.’_

Stay safe. He was going to be just, fine.

To his credit he made it past more people than he’d ever seen milling around the compound that evening and managed to keep his cool when speaking to every single one of them in passing. Even Happy questioned him, even whilst enduring that _look_ he always gave when he suspected something was out of joint, but there was truly no phasing him. He was determined and had took every step with more motivation than the last, a new slither of excitement curling around his spine as he made it out the doors and into the ride.

It was far too easy, lying to the driver about Mr Rogers dropping him back off later. More ground covered.

He’d gotten out the vehicle and entered the gym fast, waited. Waited in the tiny dusty porch which had a bolted door the other side; locked, because no one was going down there tonight. He waited until he saw the car pull away through the keyhole, shivering despite the pleasant temperature early evening in a humid New York City. 

“Okay.” And that was it.

That was his prep talk before stepping onto the pavement, squinting against the low sun and joining the meandering crowds for a few blocks South. He’d never been to this side of Manhattan before and it was nice. It was the only place in the world Peter thought could change tones in just a few blocks; he felt like he were in the middle of Upper East Side when he grew close to the little red marker on his phone screen, blinking up at him as he rounded the corner.

He looked down the row of royal town houses and saw the smart looking apartment block just upon them. There he is.

Getting inside was so easy it almost had him feeling remorse; Tony had the encrypted passcodes to most buildings in the state so all it took was a few seconds of subtle patience, acting like he were just busy on his phone then a few seconds and a rather _loud_ beep later, Peter scanned the keypad and let himself into the establishment. He was top floor loft apartment which was good because Peter wanted time to slow down just a little bit now his thoughts had a chance to catch up with him, needed to stretch out the space he had between taking these few _billion_ steps and being face to face with Mr Barnes.

A pang of panic hit him when he considered the parallel reality of this. What if he’d read it all wrong? What if he got up there and he was refused entry. What if Mr Barnes slammed the door in his face or worse, pulled him inside to give him a dressing down. What if all this time he was just teasing him because he found pleasure in it but non of it rooted in mutual desire. What if after all this time, Mr Barnes snapped and hurt him. Physically.

Nevertheless, cursing his spritely agility, he’d made quick work of trailing the stairs and found himself in front of _Loft, 2_. Peter hadn’t perused the blueprints for the building but he assumed that meant this was one of only two bare brick Loft Apartments and the rest were, over two floors maybe. He didn’t care. He really didn’t care he was just zoning out, distracting himself, subconsciously finding other details to focus on instead of facing what was in front of him and handling it. And that, was why he was here. He wasn’t going to be unfocused anymore.

Peter rapped on the wood, the knock ricochetting down the hall and the boy nearly followed it, ran away and didn't look back. He waited a couple beats, able to hear absolutely nothing from this side of the partition. Nervous fiddling ensued with the hems of his sleeves and pulling his fingers, rethinking this entire plan, doubt creeping in at the eleventh hour.

“What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I—,”

But then the door unlatched and revealed a slither of the interior and person behind it. Peter pulled in a chunk of air, opened his mouth but it slammed back in his face.

Horror immediately swelled in his chest, the sting of rejection clumping at the back of his throat. He’d just made the biggest mistake of his entire life. And now he was probably furious. Bucky was never going to treat him-

A scratching sounded and the door swung back open.

“Oh—,” He wanted to stick his fingers down his throat and get the job done before his nerves had a chance. His cheeks seared, _all_ that sure cast he held dropped when his eyes did _._

Bucky’s did too, making him feel like he had to explain himself immediately.

“So you do have a fucking death wish."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewatched Civil War today and my new kink is Bucky's grunt when Peter catches his fist. Hope this drip-feed satisfies you :)

He were half way pulling a shirt down his torso to answer the door, tugging it all the way with one hand still crushing the door handle. Peter stuttered a breath, not quite sure where to look or how to remove that from his mind so he could step forward with the army worth of confidence he originally came here with. Apparently Bucky wasn’t in any mind to wait for him to figure that out, ordering him to _get inside_.

The room was huge with high ceilings and two dark fans fixed at opposite ends. It was notably cool, not uncomfortably humid like the exterior. The first thing that he picked up was the musky scent of oak and a lingering pinch of spiced apple.

“Nat gave you my address.” Peter was stumped by the tone.

“N-no?”

On one hand, maybe he should’ve accepted that alternative because if he has to explain that he in fact just hacked Tony’s contact database like a creep he wasn’t sure how well that would go down. Then again, he’s talking to one of the world’s most renowned assassins; can’t imagine he’d be shaken over a schoolboy crush hunting him down.

Bucky had his back turned to him then, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder, “Steve?” He was on his way towards the kitchen, making a beeline for something tasty if Peter’s nose was anything to go by. 

Again, he should take the lie, “…No.”

He looked soft. Black t-shirt, black lounge shorts. He’d never seen Bucky’s bare legs before for even in training he wore jeans or sweatpants. But now he were looking at the length of them, the trail of faint dark hair, all the way up half thigh until he caught a glimpse of a long scar travelling up beneath his pants. He wondered how many of those he had.

“Do I want to know?”

No.

“Depends if you're mad that I’m here?”

He didn’t answer, just swept his body once over before pushing hand through his hair and turned back into the counter, clicking things and busying himself like he wasn’t even there. “What about your leash.”

"My what?" 

"The chokehold he has on your location."

Peter only rolled his eyes with maximum confidence because Bucky couldn't see him do it. “I took care of it, at quick glance he'll see me in the City and besides, he still thinks I… uh,”

Bucky turned to find Peter had almost followed his footsteps step for step, loitering around the edge of the steel breakfast bar just gaping and taking in everything his curious eyes possibly could. “You didn’t tell Master your training session was cancelled?”

He was instantly defensive, “ _No_ , but it doesn’t matter because there's a two hour win-,"

“The naughty step will be waiting for you upon return.” Bucky tutted, boxing up whatever it is that he’d folded in aluminium and, Peter was amused to even suspect, _baked,_ “no tv privileges for a month.”

“Piss o—,” Peter’s fingers froze atop the fruit bowl.

It wasn’t meant harmfully but the world seemed to shrink down on his position in the seconds that followed, hyperaware of the silence that fell and the stare penetrating the side of his face. A towel was whipped at his wrist and the sting was sharp, “ _Ow_ _—_ B-,”

“Hands off.” Bucky swivelled the towel back into a long line with a warning laid as he pulled it tight and waited for the boy to lower his hand. It was both infuriating and intriguing how he was managing to grow so confident and brattish under certain lights, yet more subdued and malleable under others. Satisfied, he hung the towel on a hook out of sight, “No webs?”

Peter looked at his wrists dumbly. Shook his head, “Nuh uh, don’t need them.”

“You flatter yourself.”

Bucky drank in the pout as he pushed past Peter.

At first glance it were a simplistic place, nothing was too busy nor terribly well matched either. The floor was dark wood, the walls half white half bare brick with no art work decorating them which Peter found incredibly sad. Like an unpainted canvas. There was, however, a whopping great globe and a retired table that looked like it belonged in the 70’s. A large wolf fur looking rug spanned a brownish grey foundation beneath the lounge area which was rustic and warm and entirely suitable to the man. There was also a rather interesting ornate looking unit in the far corner, littered with books ranging in age, papers looking like they needed a good sorting through were stacked along one side with a couple copper paperweights _next_ to them, collecting dust. Peter grew curious about the larger items at the bottom where there laid a box so full the lid was haphazardly fixed on top and a pile of—

“Wait you have vinyls?” Bucky, as if it were predictive, hovered next to the player with the tonearm pinched between his fingers. “That’s so cool I never… um, y’know it’s just cool.”

He gave Peter an odd look and took it off the record already set on there. Maybe his impromptu arrival had interrupted the soundtrack he were planning on enjoying solo, prior to.

His bedroom was at the other far side, an open archway that looked like it should be fitted with double doors was situated right in the middle, there was a room just before it like a foyer for his bedroom, with a mirrored archway where his bed took centre stage from the outside looking in. It was made methodically but Peter couldn’t peep any further than that.

“What d’you want, peach?”

To know what’s in that overflowing box. He wants to know why he doesn’t own a television but does, have a laptop. Were it an active choice to not have any plants? Did he care about the long drop windows meaning he didn’t have any privacy when the lights were on at night time? He’s pretty sure that’s a box of cat food in the corner and if so, why? How many pairs of socks did he own and were any of them patterned.

Why, was he paying the book he had pinned open on what looked like the ugly sibling of that horrendous table from before, more attention than him.

Peter was gesturing. “What’s that door lead to?”

“The bathroom.”

Oh.

He was prepared for some level of sarcasm but there seem to be no facade present between these oddly charming walls. Explaining how there was an entrance to the ensuite from the bedroom and outside for any _guests_ , even Bucky realised how mocking it were to insinuate he would have anything of the kind.

He still wasn’t looking at the boy though whilst he settled forward on the couch, he’d barely shown any morsel of emotion or acknowledgement after the initial shock of the boy appearing on his doorstep. It was maddening, like he’d expected this sooner or later and was humouring the kid by allowing the anticipation to bubble at his lack of reaction. Curiosity amplified with every stumbling step Peter took, so many questions balanced on the tip of his tongue but not enough encouragement to ask. There was a new found filter in his curiosity now he was met with this new found Bucky. He was softer, dare he say more domestic and even though it was thrilling he remained wary as if he were walking a tightrope towards a novelty he may or may not be allowed to dip his toes into.

He didn’t realise he’d taken up staring again until Bucky wet his forefinger to turn a page and blue eyes pierced him on the spot. “So you came all this way to question my interior design?”

There was so much restraint to him, so _lazy_ and comfortable in his own skin while Peter wanted to peel his off.

“Well, I just wanted to get out the compound for a bit an—,”

“Drop the bullshit,” Bucky saw right through him, “you’re more intelligent than that.”

And crystal clear eyes saw all of him. There wasn’t a time to recall where Peter felt like he truly ever held the edge around him and if he did it lasted seconds until it were ripped from beneath his feet and the balance had tipped in the soldier’s favour. Just like now. He thought this would be easier, he’d rehearsed what he wanted to say, sounded near perfect to himself, by himself, but now he had to look at him and was expected to _tell him_ and turns out reality was more daunting up close.

One word at a time.

“Fine, I-,” He shrugged, mumbling, “I wanted to see you.” Started picking at the thread atop the armchair absentmindedly.

He didn’t leave a second. “I thought I made it clear that wasn’t a bright idea.”

“No,” Peter frowned, pointing, “no _you_ think I’m not ready, y-you—,” Bucky sat back leisurely, an arm over the back of the couch, legs spread and it was confident and _cocky_ and Peter needed to remember staring was rude, “told you I don’t like being underestimated because it’s not _fair_ , just because— because I—,”

“Come here.”

Peter’s pulse dropped. “Wha…” He didn’t hear it right.

But he must’ve, because Bucky was looking at him like that and Peter simply looked to his feet like he expected them to just move.

“I said,” His voice was something he doubted anyone could become accustomed to, “come here.”

He’d come all this way.

_I’ve come all this way._

Willing his heartbeat to stop trying to puncture his chest Peter pushed forward, avoiding contact with everything on his way; the armchair, the stupid table, was careful not to stub his toes on the foot of the couch as he came to a stop before him.

“Fair doesn’t exist in my world, and if you don’t like that then neither should you.”

“I’m not leaving.” The speed of his response surprised both of them. Peter looked like he were thinking twice about it, Bucky waiting for the _but_ , yet his statement remained.

Bucky licked his lips, squinting slightly at the boy in review of his answer. His silence was nauseating. There was no tell as to whether he would accept it but then Peter’s stomach flipped because he nodded, softly, needing not to elaborate when he cocked his head to the side a little and told Peter to _sit_.

Peter’s toes curled into the soles of his shoes.

Sensing the request would have a timer wired to it he swallowed the doubt in his throat, voices _screaming_ at him to reconsider as he came between Bucky’s man spread. If the tremble in his joints were visible then that was unfortunate because there was no turning back now and he wasn’t going to be undermined again. He wasn’t going to be patronised.

The man did nothing but watch as the slight thing climbed into his lap, barely denting the couch where his knees balanced to arrange himself like a perfect little prize in Bucky’s lap. If he’d ever considered those cold eyes to be daunting before they were nothing compared to the low lit perversion in them now. They were dragging up Peter’s body like he were mapping it, scoping out weak spots, strong spots, favourite spots, storing the information to be used against him later.

“Atta boy.” 

The boy nearly keened.

He’s just a man.

Peter’s hands found themselves settling on his chest. Palms flat against warmth and the steady, _so_ steady motion of rising, falling, rising, falling.

He’s just, a man.

He was shifting now and Peter’s tiny chest constricted with the ripple of movement beneath him, the _ease_ of it as though he weighed nothing. “Now, tell me,” Hands folded over Peter’s knees, spread wide as they travelled up his thighs, “why you're here.”

"I want," So much, so, so much, "you."

"Me?" He wasn't making it easy.

A nod. “This...” He couldn’t locate it, distracted _fully_ by the warmth radiating from Bucky’s torso, spreading the very burn beneath his hands as they scaled his supple thighs, closed in on his hips and so nearly— Peter lifted by a fraction to allow it— cupped his ass but didn’t, their broad assault dropping to coil around his ankles instead.

“This?” Bucky squeezed them.

Peter rolled his ankles, his converse tucked either side of muscled thighs. But they moved again, this time the cool pinch of metal breaching the hem of his t-shirt as a hand pushed up the centre column of his spine, so wide and heavy on his back he could only arch at the contradicting sensation. “This?” He repeated.

The cool air pooled around the slim pane of his tummy on show as his t-shirt lifted from the intrusion, but Bucky wasn’t distracted, focused on Peter’s face the entire time.

Rightly so as it caught the sight of the gasp he let out when two hands were clamped mercilessly around his waist, _lifting_ him a beat to pull him further into his lap. Hands immediately readjusted to the back of Bucky’s neck, overlapping, gripping, scrambling for a hold that he didn’t know how to perform. Peter’s eagerness was overwhelming and Bucky wanted to drain it for all its worth, train his wide eyed bewilderment, all the curiosity tumbling around as he did and catalyse it into a lifestyle. Peter shucked off his hoody and it dropped to the man's feet.

“You want this?” They were so close, Bucky’s lips— oh how Peter loved his lips, so full and rosy red and bewitching.

A moan slipped through another nod, puppy dog brown eyes glazed with arousal.

Peter willed his exhausted heart to keep going when a hand cupped his jaw. “Answer properly.” Bucky’s thumb tracing a small line along his lower lip, testing its buoyancy. It was all a test.

Suitably, seeing as Peter were lost for words, he used his mouth differently to convey what he wanted and turned to suck his thumb into his mouth.

The solid arm constricted like a band of literal steel around his middle and the boy squeaked, let it out with a surprised pop but Bucky grew greedy, his focus shot from the tease of what he’d be getting. With a tip of his chin, their noses bumped and Bucky sucked a kiss from his lips, curiously cold but soft, so soft and petite sliding against his own, quickly plumping from the abuse they endured. But of course Peter was sweet and breezy and opened instantly to the feeling, tried to keep his edge but got whisked away with the initiative as their mouths shifted carefully, easily, against the other amidst soft pecks and gentle sucking, Bucky deepening it sporadically towards the end before parting with a smug grin.

The poor boy was dazed from that alone and Bucky couldn’t help but imagine the state he’d get to when stretched out beneath him, _full_.

“Peach…”

The younger mouthed something but he wasn’t sure whether it was English or even a word, just looked to his lips and smashed his face back into Bucky’s again. It was messy and their teeth knocked in the process, absolutely nothing like the previous smooth transition but neither cared, the man’s soft chuckle rumbling through his sternum as he simply collected as much of the boy as he could into his lap. It was corrected quickly by the governing hand cupping Peter’s jaw again and the pace altered.

When the phone wedged in Peter’s back pocket vibrated he yelped, hands pinned on Bucky’s pectorals, a little breathless and bewildered. He licked the spit from his mouth and looked down at him, searching his eyes.

A peculiar thought occurred to the boy that if this were 1940’s they wouldn’t have this repetitive issue. Bucky would never have had the threat of a phone call to interrupt any intimacies, perhaps a knock at the door at best and that was subjective as to which was worse.

“Answer it.” The item was seamlessly removed from his pocket and held between two long fingers.

“What? No I can’t _answer_ —,”

Bucky waggled the device, “You wanna start dodging calls from your teacher?”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Peter yanked it from him, staring at it with a fusion of panic, “I was meant to go to the lab tonight.” Shit.

 _Shit, shit, shit._ Bucky lifted his chin, eyes narrowed.

Peter jabbed the accept button. “Hello?”

On the other end Mr Beck was full of formalities, asking how he were in the usual chipper manner while Peter did his best to mirror it, both eyes on the man whose lips were closing in on his jaw, his body naturally inclining towards the pull.

“Yes… I, uh,” Had he completed the chapters he’d sent over email, “did that last night.”

“I comple—ted _,_ ” A grip dug just enough into the shallow softness around his hips, “I did,” A nimble kiss pressed to the highest point of his neck, “yeah, I— those were done already I emailed _,_ ” Another kiss to his cheek, a little lower on his jaw, “you, Sir,” Bucky’s fingertips _tightened_ , “y-ou’re the only one with an active email on that side so I thought— best,”

The stubble was better than he ever'd imagined it to be; the ideal kind of coarse texture against his slippery smooth as the gentle trail of affection was pulled along and up his profile, his earlobe _grazed_ between sharp teeth quicker than a beat, enough to make him squirm at the feeling then mourn the loss of it.

All heinous intentions dawned on the boy too late.

“S-sir?” He’d missed that entirely. Too focused on focusing. “Yeah,” Oh God he’s mentioned the lab, “t-today?” 

He were tempted to wink an eye open when all advances pulled away but didn’t, fist subconsciously curling the material of Bucky’s shirt at his nape.

“I haven’t gotten any of it with me, that’s the only, uh,” Hot breath condensed over the rapid thump-thump-thump of Peter’s pulse, “one I have… _o—_ ,” When a wet, warm tongue lapped once at his throat Peter had to lower the phone or else the tiny little moan would’ve transcended tenfold down the line. There was no chance to fight it when fingers threaded through his hair and _pulled_ his head back, “ _Bu—,_ ” the line of his throat exposed fully, spiking Bucky’s appetite.

The hum against his throat sent a shockwave straight to Peter’s groin, his hole clenching around nothing.

Hanging onto what was left of his conscious will Peter slapped the phone to the side of his face, struggling to swallow— “Sorry stub’ my t—oe, _sorry_ , it’s when?”

“Pretty boy.”

 _How_ Mr Beck missed the formidable grumble of Bucky’s voice was beyond him, but he were grateful for his Professor’s apparent removed sense of awareness. His breath was growing inexplicably ragged, swallowing whatever oxygen he were allowed, feeling hot as warm lips bracketed the motion. “ _M_ -mhm,” He couldn’t stay like this, voice strained, leaking cock trapped between thin clothing and Bucky’s muscle.

“Y’sir—,” A hand, too strong, cradled the nape of his neck, “ _—_ I’m sorry Sir it totally slipped my m-mind… no I just can’t tonight because I got a lot of work over here,” Scrambling to lie was much harder when there was a soldier with experience beyond generations suckling a mark into his pulse point, Peter’s mouth fell open on a silent sound, “… _yeah_ ,”

Bucky was growing predatory, hands back up Peter’s top to squeeze the baby soft flesh, mouthing along the virtuous curve of his neck with torturous precision. He nipped the base and _sucked_ hard, rolling his tongue against skin that tasted too sweet to be real, pulling him closer when the boy only tried to resist the pressure that turned painful, fast. It was delicious. Knew the two marks being imprinted on his throat would fade quickly so he put in the work to ensure they’d last, pulling, biting, torturing the skin between his teeth.

“Okay, yes…. uh, not then, I don’t think I can _—_ ,” Bucky didn’t let him finish, knocking the wind from his lungs as his ass was groped with supreme ease and squeezed roughly through the flimsy denim. Peter's body was inflamed, caught off guard from how wide his palms felt on his bottom, “—s-sorry Sir what was that?”

Peter battled to keep a balance when he were hoisted by his thighs, Bucky standing up straight and _bouncing_ him once to get him to a suitable position around his torso. Mr Beck was asking him whether he had time to confirm a few things that were happening over the next couple of weeks, timetables, deadlines, tutor meetings, mundane things that couldn’t compete for his focus when he were being carried by 200lbs of muscle through the archways.

“I don’t think I can _talk_ ,” Bucky’d dropped him onto the mattress, “right now, Mister B—,” watched him bounce before he grappled his ankles and yanked him back down.

“Yes you can.”

Peter couldn’t cover the mouth piece quick enough, “W—,”

His shoes were removed, fingers making quick work of dropping them with a thud as Peter tried to figure out why he were allowing this, why he was agreeing to being forced to talk through whatever the fuck it was his teacher needed to talk through. Hands landscaped his legs all the way up to his ankles where they were grouped over one shoulder. Fingertips were hooked over his waistband whilst Beck asked if the 19th of some month was alright. “Yeah,” It was going to have to be, “yes Sir.”

His button was popped and he were shimmied out of his jeans, shucked to the side aimlessly with his socks. Everything was happening so fast and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

But then a curveball was thrown. Bucky was soft for the smallest moments and it made something rise inside of the boy, right along with all the new feelings and contrasting emotions this one man has managed to surface within weeks. He could’ve stayed there for an eternity when lips pressed a secret kiss into the arch of his foot, another to the top, his skinny ankle. He almost forgot to answer the voice in his ear being lost to the command of those eyes.

“Mid-terms will be done by then,” It was rushed, mouth hung lax as Bucky raised a finger to his mouth to shush the boy.

He was _barely_ speaking loud enough to be legible on speaker. He wasn’t making any noise. He was _focusing_ , just like he’d been told, just like he wanted to prove. He might’ve pouted if allowed the time, because his answer came in the collision of a heavy palm smacking his backside.

Peter threw his head back with a sound he would be forever grateful for getting lodged in his throat. It must’ve sounded like he were choking, the sting from the singular slap chasing up the backs of his thighs that were stretched along the long, warm line of Bucky’s torso. He looked horrified, peering down at Bucky who made a speaking motion with the hand that wasn’t banded around his legs.

“G—uhh, think s-so,” Peter zoned back in just at the right time, angry puppy mode activated as he leered at the man, whined a little as he tried to make a grabby hand towards the one that’d just attacked him but it only came down again, fast and hard and jolted his body upwards.

There was a voice next to him and he wanted to curse, wanted to cry from the effort of keeping it together. “Mist— Mister Beck?” He looked delicious, lips wet, plump from biting, “Sorry Mister Stark— he wants me to come, _go_ to the lab, now, uh,”

Wrong move. “ _Stark_?” Another powerful thwack landed on his ass and Peter dropped the phone, yelped as the burn zipped down his legs again. The sound of his abuse was crisp and it orchestrated perfectly with his restrained whimpers, the boy shuffling away only to be secured back by a strength he were no current match to.

Bucky let go, almost throwing him at the headboard when he shoved him up a few inches on the bed. Peter watched him stride off into the bathroom and immediately began a fit of babbles as he tried to explain that he was alright to an insistent Professor on the other side of the line. He returned with a bottle of something that was dropped on the bed.

“S-sir?” Peter sunk back into the pillows as Bucky’s figure cast a shadow above him, “No no I just, I- I gotta go now...”

“Stark.” He repeated, eyes boring into him.

Peter was near trembling when he parted his thighs to make way for him, the cold air smacking his clenched hole when his underwear was peeled up from underneath and left stretched around mid-thigh. He could barely hold back a sob when he tried to kick out at Bucky’s chest but was blocked and pinned back to the spot. “Quit fussing.”

Mr Beck heard that. He had to have heard that, there was no feasible way he didn’t pick up on the voice that held no similar timbre to his own. He hurried through a goodbye, made a loose promise that he’d make up for lost time and hung up practically throwing his phone with the speed it was dropped and coiled his hands around the offensive offering of Bucky’s biceps.

“B-Bucky wait,” Looking down was humiliating.

“You could’ve substituted anyone else as your excuse,” There was a hand at his jaw, winding his mouth open, “anyone, peach. But you go and insult me like that.”

“N— _ngh_ ,” Two thick fingers breached his lips and were shoved into his mouth disabling his speech.

“Put that deceptive little mouth of yours to good use,” They pushed down on his tongue and dutifully Peter obeyed the best he could, lips moulding and suckling in earnest while his whole body was being pressed further into the pillows, “that’s it.”

Something clicked and the high frequency squeak around his fingers had Bucky humming as a thick, cool, substance dripped over the boy’s most intimate fold. The lubricant made a soft squelching noise when his hole involuntarily clenched and the colour of Peter’s cheeks deepened.

He tried to shake his head but there wasn’t much wriggle room with the mass above him, on him, _in_ him.

“Shh, sh,” Panic spread like wildfire in his gut when Bucky repositioned and his hefty cock bumped the back of his thigh, fingers that weren’t in his mouth hooked around his chin to keep him put. “Nothin’ like that,” He knew the whimpers were ones of subdued horror. Knew the boy was caught between seduction and fear of being taken advantage of and didn’t know what to do, “this could’ve been the other way around but you pissed me off with that comment peach.”

There was no immediate confirmation of what that meant. There was only a kiss to his button nose, one to the stray tear spilt down his cheek and Peter’s fingers, trembling, wrapping around the thick wrist cinctured at his jaw. He popped his pink lips wide open around the fingers weighting his tongue to take a breath. Be it one of relief, it was short lived as something cool was pressing against his entrance.

He nearly choked around his mouthful, “ _Easy_ now, easy.” The gentle, sporadicly sized circling got smaller, slower, and soon ceased, Peter spluttering when the metal finger pushed inside without warning.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before,” Peter still clung to his wrist, his other flapping aimlessly for the metal equivalent between his thighs, “hm?”

All he could do was nod wordlessly, spit oozing from the corner of his mouth. He tried to swallow but Bucky wasn’t being graceful; barely tapping another digit at his entrance before shoving it past the taut muscle with ease thanks to excessive lubrication. Peter whined from the intrusion as he felt helplessly full, both ends stuffed full of Bucky and he sobbed as pain merged with the most chilling pleasure.

“Course you have,” The pressure dragged along his insides, “just don’t know how, bet you can barely get off without instruction,” Foreign and too big, way bigger than what he were used to, “need a grown man to play with your ass and stretch you out, huh?”

Bucky twisted his wrist and swirled his fingers around, over and over and over where he knew that small bundle of nerves lay.

“ _Mgh— mh_ ,” Peter coughed around his fingers, hardly caught his breath and _suckled_ again. Bucky’s cock throbbed from the amateur display.

“S’that good?”

Bucky pulled his sodden fingers from puffy lips and got momentarily transfixed on the lines of spit connecting them, the mess it left on his chin. Peter took a deep breath and finally encircled the abusing wrist, “B—,”

He decided he’d forgive him just this once for not using his words. Looking all spent and pretty like that, curls dampening around the edges beginning to stick to his temple. It was more than acceptable to allow him some breathing room to adjust. He were gazing at Bucky with so much conflict it would be a cruel exercise to expect him to think clearly enough this early on, especially while his head was full of such disarrayed collision; looked like he were pleading for mercy but also as though Bucky'd personally strung up all the stars in the night sky.

Bucky began pumping both fingers in and out at a steady pace, being sure to curve them inwards to keep that pressure on Peter’s sweet spot that would make him putty, firmly fucking him on his somewhat unforgiving metal limb ripping obscene sounds from the tiny boy. Bucky wondered how he’d ever survived without hearing them before now.

“God, you're taking what I give you so well,” He grazed his teeth against Peter’s chin, “obedient when you wanna be, baby.”

Watery eyes fluttered shut, his hands fisting the front of Bucky’s t-shirt as he picked up speed.

He was giving Bucky an unintentional show that wasn’t going to be forgotten.

“S-so… ,”

Bucky kissed his bottom lip, swiped another tear from his blotched cheek, “Try again for me.”

Their noses bumped when he kissed him again, “So g—,” swallowing breathless sounds that were being punched from his throat from the friction in his sore little hole, “g-good,” He nodded, hissed, “— so good.”

“I know,” The rumble of his voice propelled the wave in his lower tummy, “stay still peach, you try and move I’ll have to pin you and you don’t want that do you.” It wasn’t open for discussion but Peter agreed anyway, nodding, a weak sound tacked on to encourage his trust, “Alright.”

Bucky shuffled down and after a second that felt like an eternity for Peter, swallowed his dick whole. Peter nearly convulsed but the blunt pressure prodding his tight heat ensured he stayed put, _staying still_ , being good for Bucky. A palm spanned across his navel regardless and smeared the pool of precum gathered there.

He wasn’t big nor small, just about hitting average so it was no tall order for the man to suck down his length and Peter felt like his soul was being ripped out with such expert precision, the wet sounds of his lips wrapped around his shaft merging with the unrelenting drive of thick fingers was enough to make him cum. A punch of arousal landed in his gut when he popped off and licked his lips, Peter burning with desire for everything he was granted. “I’m—,”

Bucky kissed the divot of his hip joint, lapped his lips again from the sticky sweet sweat. “You got a pretty face, tight little body and a cute cock peach,” He pulled back up to his previous eclipse of Peter’s view, mouth connected with Peter’s as he muffled through it, “but first you're gonna show me you can work your pussy on my fingers.”

He pulled out, replaced the lube and _sunk_ back in which earned him two palms slapping atop his shoulders, thighs snapping shut only to be prised back open. His fingers stilled and a hand came to the bottom of his jaw, pressing into his neck, “Move.”

Peter was at the tip top of his orgasm, teetering so close it was everything he could do not to grab his cock and finish but this was too good to not obey, the fear of punishment imminent if he even tried, so he licked his lips and readjusted. His hips rolled down and his body bowed— Bucky piled his weight into that hand around his throat. “Again.”

He did just that. Dipped his hips and rolled them around on the solid fingers, searching for that spot they were so deftly rubbing ag— “ _Oh my god,_ ”

Bucky’s grip was so wide he could crush the boy’s jaw if he pleased. “Keep going, baby.”

Peter was blissed out, stuttering on sounds he wouldn’t want to think about later, embarrassed they were coming so easily now. He clung to the man above him, pleading with him.

“You thought it was going to be easy?” Of course it was. Bucky knew that. Knew he could bring the boy to a shattering orgasm within minutes he was so virginal and sensitive. “Thought you’d just lay there like my sweet pillow princess while I filled you up?”

Peter was wrecked with sobs, listening to the command, feeling the orgasm hurtle towards him as he ground his hips, all inhibitions of being too loud or too ruined too soon _gone_.

“Good boy,” The encouragement was euphoric, “look real fucking pretty like this.”

He was practically bouncing himself on his fingers when his orgasm hit, Bucky’s palm remaining intact around his throat to keep him focused on the pleasure overspilling and washing through every nerve in his sanctified body. He writhed and arched as his cock twitched out load after load of his release, cock straining from being untouched, pulse hammering so loudly in his ears Peter accepted the fact his vision may black out very soon. But seconds after he rode out his high, he came back to slowly, the tremors from his prostate turning painful far too quickly but of course Bucky knew that, the man above him that he were blindly clutching as he feared he may levitate from this fucking dimension was there and knew exactly when to pull out. Peter winced at the discomfort. He winced again from the wet squelch, tingling from the simmering pleasure settling in his muscles.

He closed his eyes and there was a wet kiss to his temple. “-cky?” Like he needed the reassurance this wasn’t a dream. “Bucky.”

The man was being pulled into him, yanked down so he could escape into the comfort of that musk only he carried, the safety of his chest. He wanted to hide away until he could properly communicate and the pink tinge on his cheeks wasn’t so fresh. The pink tinge being Bucky’s absolute favourite.

“No, no, no, no,” It almost stung in Peter’s vulnerable state, looking up at the man pushing him away gently, “let’s sort you out first.”

Oh. Peter looked down to the t-shirt that was strewn half way up his body, his pink nipples exposed and hard and— “Oh.”

Bucky kissed those nipples teasingly, nosed his jawline and kissed him there too. He swallowed the boy’s pretty giggles with one to his lips, slow and languid and enough to get his cock aching as a reminder as to what would happen if he didn’t move. He retracted to the bathroom and came back with a towel and something else— a t-shirt. Maroon coloured, dark, big. Peter blinked up. His.

He was patted down in the most dignified way one could whilst covered in his own release, clammy and floating around a headspace he didn’t know how to rip himself out of efficiently enough to speak so he could _tell_ him that. Could only accept the kisses he were rewarded throughout. 

He wiggled his underwear back down after deciding they were definitely dry and acceptable, and sat upright to pull the top on only to instantly regret the gravity on his nether regions, plopping back against the pillows with a horrified sound.

Bucky was in the middle of replacing his own attire, “Peach?”

“S’okay,” No it wasn’t. He laid there staring at the stupid ceiling fan going round at a hundred miles per hour while the pulse in his asshole endured the same gusto. Until, Bucky.

Peter huffed, pulled a pillow down to hide his face but squishing his embarrassment behind even the softest surfaces wasn’t going to make it go away. Still he squished, whined into it until it were snatched from his face altogether and he were being moved. He flailed for a hold on the sheets until he realised what was happening, realised Bucky was sat on his haunches on the bed and pulling him to sit in his lap.

“Trust me— hey,” Just the dip in octave had the boy’s attention, “come on, it’ll help. Sit up.”

So he did. He assembled himself with the total aid of capable hands holding him upright so his bum was perched on his thighs but his hole wasn’t, no pressure pressing back, the cushions of his bottom taking all the weight so he could stand being vertical.

“Why,” Peter sighed from nowhere, arms upright when instructed so Bucky could pull the top down, “—feel— feels, like I’ve been battered.”

Bucky didn’t mean to laugh but he did and it was loud and attractive and it made the boy in his arms jump a little. “Yeah, because these little things,” He collected one of Peter’s hands and playfully bit into his fingers eliciting a bubble of giggles from the owner, “these are all you’ve been used to. Gonna feel a bit bruised.”

A bit.

Peter frowned and lurched himself into the salvation of the man's neck with the rumble of his chuckle vibrating against his cheek. He felt so warm. He wriggled a little and wrapped himself around his body until he felt the bulge nudge his underside, eyes popping open, pulling his head back from the crevice of Bucky’s neck-shoulder joint. “You’re—,”

“Not yet.” He shook his head.

“But—,”

“You rest and stay horizontal. That comes later.”

Later. Peter didn’t know when that was or what would specifically be happening, but he wasn’t fit enough to question it. He looked between them and felt the twitch of his cock bounce up through his shorts, bumping his taint on purpose and Peter slapped his chest, “ _Stop_ that.”

It was an effort to get the boy to let go, Bucky enduring two solid minutes of feeling very much a mother Koala with a stubborn boy hanging onto him with all his might instead of just laying down and resting his body. He’d barely been touched and was thoroughly exhausted. Bucky wanted to touch everything, hadn't yet skimmed the surface. Wanted to taste him, feel him, explore every unspoilt curve on his body and let the boy establish and dispel his desires on him in return, but seeing him so sated from being merely fingered, he realised this was going to take serious pace, didn’t want to push the boy’s limits. He would take care of him, just needed to breath for a second. This was completely new and he couldn’t be selfish and quite alarmingly, found himself not wanting to be. 

After bargaining with the sleepy boy and confirming he could stay a little while sure and no, he wasn’t going to inject him in his sleep and wake up back at the compou— what the fuck, went on in that head? After reassuring him that he’d wake up safe, un-drugged and in the same king bed, Bucky was finally able to slip away through to the communal space.

It were a sobering journey coming back to a place he wasn't surrounded by the consistent tang of citrus, a bouquet of creamy amber and something sweet that he couldn't pin. The low sun painted the room a blood orange, caramel sparks catching on all hard corners, even glinting the metal of his arm.

He’d have used the bathroom but he didn’t want to make too much noise for any longer than necessary. Instead he opened up the cold water and splashed some on his face, ran his hands underneath it to cool the blaze in his body. His cock was half hard when he flung the tea towel to the floor, still not fully soft when he padded over to the couch and probably won’t be until he gets the boy’s hands on him. 

Good thing he’s a patient man. Most of the time.

“Fuck.” He flopped down and scrubbed his face. Maybe he could jack off, it wouldn't take a whole minute with that scene fresh in his mind, the boy's sweet taste on his tongue. There was no chance in Hell he'd be allowing anything else to stir when he came around from his nap; for time reasons and the strong desire to not immobilise the poor kid waist down from the way he were fucking feeling. He palmed his clothed cock, fully considering doing just that when the mobile phone buzzed thrice on the table.

Ignored it.

Staring at the book he was pretending to read earlier brought a smile, spread his fingers over his stubble as if to iron it out because he shouldn’t be that happy so soon. He was gleeful, satisfied. Mostly. The part of him he’d pushed down on for so long had been unlocked and it was manifesting into the space he shared with the boy. Not just physically. The boundary had been blurred now their bodies had and he knew that, knew there were responsibilities and consequences that came with someone like Peter and being _allowed_ to do that.

Still, he smiled. A shit eating grin that he bit down on and turned his book back over.

His phone buzzed again so he picked it up, mumbling.

Reading the screen had the smile dropping from his face immediately, his heart through his ass.

_Nat: ‘I’m going to hurt you. I’m five minutes away,’_

That was one minute ago. He swiped to read the rest of the messages, the earlier ones. He’d stood but wasn’t entirely aware of it as he honed all his training to remain calm and process.

_Nat: ‘Why aren’t you picking up? What the fuck is going on?’_

_Nat: ‘Bucky’_

_Nat: ‘Bruce called, Tony’s furious. Cap called him to check in Bucky he knows Peter shouldn’t be in the city tonight he knows he’s at your apartment. You need to move fast he’s on his way right now.’_

Bucky cussed underneath his breath.

_Nat: ‘I’m ten minutes out we can work out a plan just ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE’_

He was back in the bedroom in no time, collecting Peter's trousers from the chair and throwing them on the bed, "Peter, wake up." It'd been five minutes but there was no doubt he was slumbering after the state he left him in. He clapped, " _Peter_."

The boy stirred instantly head shooting up from the pillows with one eye open. He murmured something before getting a face-full of his socks. 

"S'been half 'n hour?" 

Bucky slammed the drawer shut in the bathroom, the lube rattling around in the back. He checked himself in the mirror, scrubbed his hair, flattened it, charged back through to the bedroom to find a boy still crumpled in his sheets inspecting his own clothes like they were alien. "Stark knows."

"What-," Peter shot up straight, "How- _ow, o-_ ," Wincing at the momentarily displaced pain that pinged up his ass.

Bucky was already over there, swearing and fumbling around with his bed covers. He swung Peter's legs over the side of the mattress like a child, the boy groaning at the ache between his cheeks but trying in earnest to wiggle on his socks. "Steve." He rolled up his pant legs and slotted the boy's feet through them, leaving him to do the rest, "Natasha's going to be here any moment and so will he."

Peter nearly fell over when he stood, blood rushing to his already overloaded head. " _Nat knows too_?"

"She's not the one you need to be worried about." 

This was too much information with not enough context, he needed to know why Nat was coming here and how Tony knew about them. Maybe he just meant he knew he wasn't training. Maybe he'd just found out that Peter'd lied to him and was down in the City with Bucky alone. He wouldn't checked the coordinates. The marker would've been only a couple blocks off but it was enough to confirm his position being _not_ at the gym. He can't know anything else because Cap didn't know anything else. Peter himself barely knew there was anything else _to_ know before this evening. He felt sick. Just wanted to sleep.

"Bucky," His voice was small, looking up to see the man gone- he turned on his heels and spotted him pulling on a pair of dark jeans over his underwear. He was hissing as he shoved his neglected arousal into the confines and Peter felt weird for the twinge it caused in his stomach, licking his lips, "I thought Nat wanted us to get along? Why's she coming with him? Why are you- why're you getting dressed like that?"

It felt like a stupid question, but it fell on unresponsive ears so it didn't matter. Bucky snapped his fingers. "Put your hoodie on."

The cold side of him was back. The restrained side that left Peter feeling naked. 

Still, swallowed his words and did as he were told. Bucky's t-shirt fell a little large and scooped around his neckline but it were easily disguised underneath that, tugging it down from the back. Peter looked out into the vast space before him after he tied his shoes, had no time to think because Bucky was joining him again, all broad and imposing and _angry_ , it seemed. Peter didn't mean to flinch when he came so close and lifted his chin. "Fucksake," The warm palm was gone in an instant, "zip your hoodie." 

He did it for him, bunching the thick hood up high enough so it hid the lowest marks above his clavicle. "You need to sit... somewhere," Bucky motioned towards the bar stools underneath the kitchen counter, "there, come."

There were three hard knocks at the door as they were passing and Bucky cussed again, imploring Peter stayed sat there no matter what, did his best to stay facing up front and keep his hood hunched. He was just about to go to knocks, coming faster now and harder, until he turned back and collected Peter's panic stricken face. "It's gonna be alright." The kiss was short, haste and sweet pressed into his lips that the boy wanted to follow but couldn't. 

Taking a breath, Bucky unlatched the lock and the door swung open to a furious Nat. She shoved at his chest instantly, a gorgeous, sailor-mouthed chorus of chastisements as she entered and the bang sealed the rage from the outside world. She was in the middle of asking _where the fuck he was_ when Bucky motioned behind her. Her eyes had never been more frantic before, at least, not towards Peter, who was shrinking back in his stool. "Webs."

"Nat, I-,"

"Pete you should've told me you were planning this," Closing in on him it was apparent she held no anger towards him, just that same sisterly concern he were used to, "I could've helped sealed the plan little man but now we have to go all operation tame the fire Sergeant Buck-Stupid started."

" _Who_ , the fuck turned up on who's doorstep?" 

Natasha reared back, " _You_ should've known better, idiot."

Peter stared in shock. 

"Forgive me for not thinking to shoot a quick text upon his highness' arrival. Don't you fucking insects just _know_ each other's location anyway? High frequency sounds to communicate with or some shit."

"You do know I'm an assassin not an actual, spider-bite victim right?" Bucky made a vague strangulation motion towards her neck, "You know, all that training you gave me?"

"It was a j-,"

"Um, that's echolocation and is only used by whales. Spider's don't really have any, way... " Peter trailed off when two sets of eyes were on him, "to... yeah."

The silence was decorated by the fond smile beaming from Natasha and a broody looking Bucky, dodging a swift smack to his head. "Good job I have enough brain power to settle this."

Both males looked at her whilst she explained her cover story. It came as no surprise she was able to wrangle up an excuse so fast given the nature of her incognito lifestyle, but still. They were in agreement that they were going to pretend Nat had stepped in as Steve's replacement during training and Peter didn't want to use the public restroom down in the basement, so they had to lug a couple blocks to Barnes' residence where he could pee in sanitary peace. It was a loose excuse, stupid, in all actuality but so plain faced it made it believable. Peter had always had a touch of OCD when it came to public spaces and personal hygiene so it wouldn't cast a suspicion. 

"He still won't be happy he's here."

"He can suck it up. I'm here, so he's not alone."

Bucky leant into his arms, "A piss."

"Yes," Nat defended, "yes he needed a _pee_ , so you being the hospitable saviour you are offered your services."

If the occasion were lighter they would've laughed about it, alas, Tony was probably ten minutes away from hammering that door down and they had to get their story straight. 

"I-I was going to tell you, but I just wanted to hang out with him for a while you know?" Peter offered, not aware of how silly he was sounding. Bucky closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He were confused but continued anyway, "I know you want us to get on and stuff and you're cool with us being alone but I don't know, it seemed better to keep it private and not risk... what." Peter's brow twitched inwards, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Let's just say I don't need to be genetically modified or a whale, to _pick up_ on certain things." She may have been answering Peter's question but her gaze was diverted to the man hunched over the counter, tapping his metal finger. 

He didn't tell her to shut up, his eyes did. She smiled and did that _thing_ she always does, since the first time he got to witness it up close Peter'd wondered how she could be so at ease in his presence, have the confidence to be so familiar. She let her fingers run through his hair and rubbed his ear. If it were anyone else, Peter would've felt jealous. If it were anybody else it would've been too affectionate and personal to be comfortable but there was nothing but love laying between them, a bond that was difficult to sever, respect, that was even more difficult to attain from either party. It dawned in all of five seconds.

"You know?" Peter bunched his hoodie around his neck defensively, "You _knew_?"

"Not for long, no." She appeared pensive, still smiling, "I mean, I had a hunch but nothing was solidified until he turned up-,"

"Enough." Bucky interjected, "Ever heard of restraint, Romanoff?"

She motioned towards the violent ruby red marks deepening by the second around Peter's neck, "Have you?"

The mood was lifted for a brief moment and by brief, it was as shallow as the tingle on the young spider's skin, hairs raising from the tips of his toes right up to the nape of his neck. It was a warning. His stomach was doing flips and he winced privately when shuffling in the seat, really not wanting to show that sort of outward discomfort around Natasha; this conversation was already difficult to absorb so _that_ could definitely be bookmarked for later. She was tittering about wanting to keep it from Steve, something about him not being so forgiving of the age difference and loyalty to Tony. No one missed the look cast over the Soldier then, no one needing to know that it was a question as to where that same loyalty lied with him. 

It was too early to discuss anything. Peter was freshly sore and stressed, confused, stunned by everything that had swept him away in the past hour and a half. He didn't want to think about people's disapproval or the seriousness of their involvement, just knew he didn't want it to be cut short. He looked at Bucky, felt butterflies rise for the bundle of seconds he were able to, replacing the panic, the fear, the guilt that came with all things Tony and indulged in the blissful refuge he were betiding in ocean eyes. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may just start replying regardless of how late I get the notification because they're all, so, fucking, delicious and keep my appetite wet and motivated. Big thanks for showing this unprecedented love. If you wish, check out my tumblr [here](https://berryamore.tumblr.com/) where I’ll always be contactable. You can moan at me, critique, send kisses, discuss in detail how adorable Peter Parker is and most definitely send me prompts. I shy away from nothing.

If the hinges matched Peter’s state of mind, the door would be on the floor.

“ _Where—_ Romanoff?”

She was the last person he expected to be stood there when it opened up and it showed; for a split second his features faltered, processed the information of Nat’s _being there_ and what that meant until they fell back into the hardened line they were upon knocking. Tony’d never barge past her, his respect ran too deep, but he got damn near close when he got within an inch. She stepped back, mouth curled to answer— “Where is he?”

“Right here sweetheart.” Bucky’s monotone dragged along the patience Stark didn’t have.

The unwelcome wit was ignored until Tony turned, already half way into the room like he owned it and located a boy looking small and guilty hunched over in a stool. All the rage he possessed was focused into that one look and Peter couldn’t hold it, looked away in shame. It was fruitless as Tony closed in on his position at a speed that was anything but friendly.

“What’re you playing at?” He looked like he should be anything but quiet, his voice not matching the fire in his eyes. He and Bucky had that same quality.

“Tony.” Nat was ready to reason, but was shut down with a raised hand.

Peter trembled on the spot, hoping it wasn’t so pathetically visible as it was when he were in Bucky’s lap. Oh, how he’d give a dime to be back in the warmth of Bucky’s lap. “It’s not what you think.”

That was probably the worst thing he could’ve said.

“What I think?” Repetition upon chastisement _always_ meant you were being granted a chance to change you mind, to rethink or rephrase the silly shit that just came out your mouth. Alas, the boy did neither of those things. “I have no preconception of what _this_ , is. I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me kid.” He gripped Peter’s arm and yanked him off the stool. “Car's waiting downstairs.”

“N—,” He tried to protest but his body lugged forward at the man’s force, his headspace not allowing him to fight back sufficiently.

"Don't dare back chat me."

But he didn’t know that. He was just confused, almost frowning at how malleable he was. “But,” His voice so small it took a toll on Bucky to witness and stay on the safe side of the room. “No, T-Tony lemme—,”

It was a harmless shove. Barely there. Among other crowds and better circumstance it would’ve been passed as almost playful, but here and now it was anything but. Tony cut him off by means of forcing him forward with an unyielding vigour that it made the defenceless thing stumble.

“Ease the fuck up.”

Nat froze at Bucky’s slip.

Peter blinked, collecting his hoodie around his neck. Two opposing feelings fluttered around his tiny chest.

“Sorry, I thought you just tried to tell me,” Tony turned on his heels, “what to do.”

Peter looked at him from the background, eyes wide, desperate, hands still gripping his collar. He shook his head at the man, the temper threatening to spill over at the next wrong move. Bucky found momentary relief in the small action, a knot uncurling between the muscles in his back.

Tony took one step forward, looking the man in the eye but speaking to the shivering boy behind. “Outside, kid. Go.”

He shook his head before realising he couldn’t actually _see_ him, “N-no m’not going anywhere without you.”

Something about that sentence made Bucky feel sick.

“ _Now_.” Still stared at the soldier as though his intentions may be heinous once his back turned. “I don’t want you within a thousand feet of this place any longer than you have to be.”

He should be used to the suspicion by now. He should be able to shrug off the disconcerting tone and the lingering gaze of deliberate disgust. There’s even been times when Bucky’s welcomed it and found satisfaction in the reputation he still can’t shake in some people’s eyes, wallows in the repulsion that drips from the wandering eyes as they trail him up and down knowing full well the crippling fear that drives their resolve. That’s what amuses him the most. The fact that most the people who hold such a sour opinion, those who felt superior, those whom enjoy staring from a safe distance, all of those being the same people who would shit a brick if he were to come within a meter of their position. He’s never been tolerant for indirect aggression, so as much as he doesn’t favour the man whatsoever, he could at least respect him for being straight forward enough about his distaste.

Nat was doing her utmost to keep it nonchalant after quickly explaining exactly why either of them were even here. “Tony you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“What part of my jurisdiction do none of you understand?”

“He’s eighteen,” She fought back, “all due respect—,”

“Legally, he is old enough to make his own decisions. Legally, he may be of age to do as he pleases.” He was animated, overly, as always, “But the eyes of the law don’t exactly coincide with those of our enemies. There isn’t a bylaw that covers the grounds of eighteen year old super kids that don’t have years worth of experience under their belt, who don’t really know the full extent of their powers or,” He raised a finger, looking at Pete now, “how to _fully_ coordinate them I might add. Who don’t understand how to identify a threat and sees the world for all the good that’s in it, bypassing the very pressing, bad.”

Nat gripped the metal limb when Tony made a non-discrete glance towards the soldier.

“No,” He continued, “unfortunately there isn’t a law that dictates the dangers and vulnerabilities that come with being one of the youngest, most powerful, _naive_ kids on the planet who have a mile long list of potential aggressors so you’re shit out of luck if you think I’m going to ease the reigns any time soon. I don’t care if the kid’s bladder was fit to burst, you should’ve taken him to a bush and let loose. I don’t care if there was a meteor headed to earth and he had minutes to _live_ —,”

“Wait,” Bucky interjected and Nat, Peter, held a combined breath, “big man you’re telling me you _couldn’t_ save us from a meteor?” Tony ran his tongue over his teeth, “Not even with all those, _years of experience?_ Fuck me guess you’re not omnipotent after all.”

Nat wanted to kill him. After all these years, there’s never been a stronger urge.

“Is there something you need to get off your chest?”

Bucky smirked. “Just this tickly cough from your suffocating God complex.”

“ _Tony—_ ,” Nat tried but the man was already half way towards him, fisting the collar of his shirt.

His eyes were onyx black pools this close, no distinguishable line between iris and pupil. “You think this is one big comedy show huh?”

“ _Tony!_ ”

Bucky didn’t move, breath coming sharp through his nose, “I only see one joke here.”

The fist tightened, teeth bared as he leered up. It was like they were the only two in the room and the mild warnings from Natasha were bouncing off deaf ears as two dangerously powerful egos collided. Peter felt airborne, stuck to the spot like a useless ornament not really sure whether he should try intervene or not, his wild eyes darting between Natasha and the two men to pick up on any cues.

“Tony let him go for heaven’s sake!”

He did. Shoved at his neckline. Natasha was primed to jump in front of Bucky to halt any of that rage that was undoubtedly bubbling below the surface but she was drawing on every faith she had in him that he remained smart enough to keep it that way. If he made a scene or succumbed to Tony’s goading he would be proving the man right. She tried to catch his eyes that had turned feral but they where trained on the billionaire, tracking his every move like a predator would its prey. 

“What,” He cocked his head, hands out wide, “did I fucking tell you?”

Bucky really was trying to behave. He pushed down on the first response he wanted to give and cleared his throat instead, razor sharp eyes pinned forward. “Remind me, you talk a lot of sh—,”

“Beck.” Tony spat.

Natasha had mumbled something under her breath and almost looked regretful towards Peter who was all ears at the peculiar mention of his Professor’s name.

Bucky licked his lips, appearing every inch a God as he stood tall before the man, words coming slow from his mouth, “You told me, to stay away from your little pet.”

Said pet’s ears scorched pink, lips popping open. “Wh—,”

“I set that up so he would have no reason to be around you, so you would have no room to _work_ your sick charm—,”

“Work on him?” Bucky laughed, his eyes dead, “You’ve done a good enough job to land him in an asylum by 25.”

Peter tried again, just a whisper against the timbre of voices around him, “What did you set up?”

The way Tony shut him own had every protective instinct flaring back up in Bucky’s chest, needing the reminder that if he so much as raised his voice too much or moved too fast he’d be stamped as an alpha level threat immediately. A breath was needed to iron out the impulse to smack Stark so hard his neck broke.

“He got ear of you wanting to help me out with my arm Peach, pulled at all the exclusive threads he could to put an end to that pronto.”

It was almost comical the way Tony’s face distorted, “ _What_ was that?” He doubled back, looking at Bucky as though he were nothing but dirt he’d smeared on the sidewalk, “What the fuck did you just call him?”

“Peach.” Bucky clarified, lifting his chin as he watched the man stew as Peter began fussing on his arm to get the attention, “Got that whole, untouched, forbidden fruit thing going on,” He made _zero_ effort to hide the way he dragged deviant eyes up Peter’s body, “…thought it were fitting.”

“Untou—,”

“ _Mister Stark!_ ” Peter’s voice practically broke, tugging him hard enough to look down at him, “You set Mr Beck up with B— Mr Barnes?”

"Yes." Shameless.

"Why didn't you just ask me to st-,"

"Enough, Pete."

God Bucky wanted to rip out his tongue for continuously interrupting the boy like he wasn't allowed to speak. He looked to Nat who _also_ shook her head. Fucking insects. But Peter's wobbly voice was there again.

“S-so it’s you.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“The armed vehicles,” Too many things were coming to a head at once, “the death squad at College every time Mr Barnes is there it’s _you_ who authorises that. You commission it don’t you?”

“Kid you’ve lost me.”

“The _cars_ , the _people_ who are there to kill him if things go bad,” He had to fight to keep any sign of allegiance from his voice, keep away the tremor at the thought of Bucky getting hurt, “if they weren’t there no attention would be brought to his arrival and I—,” _I wouldn’t have been spotted so easily leaving with him that day. I wouldn’t have been pressed for information by those boys and beaten._

Peter went frightfully small and Bucky saw it. Wanted to walk over, scoop him up, throw him back in his bed and keep him there.

“I don’t know what’s going on up there,” Tony motioned to his temple, “but whatever kill squad you’re referring to I have nothing to do with it. If it’s some level of security then that’s been implemented by Beck, or the College itself. Which all things considered,” He scoffed, tone dripping venom, “is wise.”

“Tony!” Natasha was fed up now, too much testosterone suffocating her.

He wasn’t listening. “Now, we’re gone.”

He made it past Natasha, who was looking neutral, wanting to run over to Bucky and kiss and slap him then repeat. She was good at keeping emotion from her face, just like Bucky, just like the assassin he’d helped train her to be but she chewed on her thumb and watched as Tony had to grab an ambling Peter from looking at the floor. He yanked the door open and tipped his head and pointed at the woman. 

“You and I will talk later.”

She could’ve rolled her eyes, but didn’t. Knew exactly what that talk would consist of. She didn’t plan on listening, only wanted to get Peter up and out of the apartment fast enough so she could explode on Bucky who looked like he couldn’t care less about the tiny boy drawing his hoodie strings into bow. He didn’t return an ounce of emotion as the boy fell from hopeful to deflated in the instance he realised the coldness had settled back behind those eyes once more.

The door clicked and Bucky closed his eyes, ready for the onslaught he probably deserved but couldn’t be bothered with.

It didn’t come.

The lady in his life simply watched from afar, too wise to make any comments this soon. She only watched as he turned back into the suddenly so silent space their heartbeats had an echo. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, watched as he sighed, centered the supernova of emotions she knew he wasn't ready to voice. A conversation had to happen but in the fresh wake of whatever that was, whatever it was before Nat got here, whatever _reason_ Peter was here, wasn't the time. It could wait. It could all, wait.

Walking back into the bedroom he said there was some of that left over ‘ _apple shit you like’_ in the refrigerator and went about stripping his clothes, wanting to rid the layer of Peter Parker from his body, the boy’s scent apparently everywhere no matter how far from the bed he got. Natasha was saying something and maybe he grunted in reply, didn’t know as he were mid unbuttoning his jeans when he began pulling at the corners of the pillows Peter was smushed against not fifteen minutes ago. They weren’t warm. He smoothed over the crinkles in the cover, deciding he wanted to keep the post-Peter crumple until he could crawl in later. It may not be warm from his presence, but that sickly sweet scent would be embedded into the fibres and by then he’d be more collected. His cock would be thankful.

His foot caught something, a dull thud whatever it was. Seemed to have kicked it under the nightstand. Chuntering something to himself he dropped to his knees to scope out the item but it didn’t take much as soon as he were eye level and saw the blue light illumining the space beneath the furnishing.

“You fucking idiot.”

He could hear Natasha say something again, was pretty sure she was talking about helping herself to some decaf now she was here. She was going to be disappointed when she realises he stocks no such thing.

Bucky retrieved the device, holding it face up on the screen he must’ve dropped it on after hanging up. Peter’s call log was staring right back, phone unlocked and free for anyone to access. Not exactly tech adept, Bucky didn’t know the exact workings of iPhones but he was pretty certain there was a lock feature which stopped this from happening and Peter didn’t appear to have that activated. A tech student.

He stared at it and stared at it until Natasha’s voice was no longer distant and right behind him, “Buck?”

“I’m going to take a shower,” He cleared his throat and shoved the phone back underneath the pillow, “five minutes.” 

Five mintues.

He didn’t lock it.

*

“Secure line.” 

Mr Beck’s phone beeped on loudspeaker as soon as the door clicked to a soft close behind him. The lady on the answering machine sounded like an automated voice, yet she were live, asking him how they could help him today. Expressionless, he flopped into the chair behind his desk and let out an exaggerated sigh, head hung against the leather rest. 

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t understand.” 

He smiled, lolled his head to the side to peer at the red LED flashing on the machine. He watched it for a few seconds more before bringing both legs up to cross on top of the desk. It was pristine, as always. Everything was in line and minimal. So when his heel nudged the ink pot he stared at it as he slowly stated his command to speak to an operator into the void of his clinical office. 

“Is it regarding an exchange or refund? To issue a complaint? Or to-,” 

“It’s been a long day and you’re killing the last bit of will I got,” He retracted his legs and leant forward, got eye level with his desk to line the pot back up how it were before, “...Fish Bowl.” 

The line went dead and Beck, once satisfied, leant back to his previous position. The lady announced he should hold and he smiled, thanked her with a chipper tone despite the lack of enthusiasm on his face, despite the bags smudged beneath both eyes, despite the manic chewing of gum he’d had in for so many hours now it’d gone rigid. 

Running a hand down his front to smooth his tie he spat the gum into the trash can when a familiar voice picked up the other end. 

“Professor. I though we agreed you wouldn’t establish contact on this line.” 

“Untwist those panties and live a little baby.” 

“We can’t risk losing progress because you have little regards for precautions.” 

“You can’t afford to lose me either so suck it up real hard, no teeth.” 

There was a pause, one Beck enjoyed quite a bit. “So, are you in agreement to Crossbones infiltrating?” 

Beck sighed, flamboyancy bouncing off his tongue, “As much as it would complete me to witness the mercenary vs super soldier battle to the death exit to stage right scene play out in a rainbow of blood before my very eyes, I- and this may shock you, but I have a better idea.” 

“Rhinehart, we need a scene.” 

“And a juicy one you shall receive.” 

“Rhinehart.” 

“Sweetie.” 

“It’s not practical for us to keep our mercenaries on hand every time Wolf is on sight.” 

“Snap, are they going on a pay-rise strike? These army brats; so entitled.” Beck was smiling to himself as the man exploded on the other side of the phone; reeling off implications of having their forces used that were anything but financial, not appreciating Beck’s humorous take on the situation. “Okay, okay, okay. Alright boss man I hear you. I just, I need you to trust me for a little while longer. You need this to be believable, right?” 

There was no answer. 

“Of course you do which is why my compadre, I’ve had a stroke of genius and you’re going to want to kiss me all over. I insist you don’t. Really, it could get weird after last ti-,” 

“I’m going to hang up in five seconds.” 

“A kid. We need it to be so deep rooted that it doesn’t look like a set up, we need roots planted so far into our nurtured soil that when the betrayal claps,” Beck snapped his hands together, “even the God of thunder will flinch.” 

“Sounds messy.” 

“Oh I’m counting on it. The kid is linked to Stark,” Beck swivelled in his chair to pull the top drawer open where Peter’s file lay, flipped it to the first page where his picture was smiling up at him.

"And this will help us secure the Soldier how? You can't take a kid and force them to bond."

"No, no, no you misunderstand, they already have."

"Wolf."

"Wolf and kid," Beck smiled, "maybe we should call the poor thing Little Red Riding Hood."

"I don't understand how you've managed to locate the bate and set it up in such a short amount of time."

"The kid's infatuated, horny teenagers you know how it is. You remember how that was? Can you stretch your mind back that far? Anyway he's willing to let the Wolf sink his teeth in, trust me."

"I don't."

Beck laughed, "He's already lying to his precious mentor about him, lied to _me._ Believe me when I say he's hooked."

There was some further questioning about the viability of the boy and, “Yeah,” He answered, “definitely. He’s a good kid. Straight A, spotless record. Troubled, bit of family drama but that will add to the dramatics. Very obvious Daddy issues.” 

Beck scratched his temple, pulling himself upright to leer at Peter’s statistics like he hadn’t memorised all of them already. A pang of arousal walloped his groin. “Sorry- repeat that for me?” 

A sigh, “The link to Stark should be definitive, no loose hold.” 

“It’s a strong link. He’s a student of mine and upon my keen observation, he’s perfectly seasoned bate.” 

“Explain.” 

Beck smiled, letting the pages in the file flicker back.

*

"So now I have to wear a hoody in eight _thousand_ degrees so I can tie the hood a little to hide the stupid bites." Peter huffed, flopping his arms.

“What I want to know, is what he’s like up close? Are his eyes as clear as the ocean like they look in photos? Oh— and what does he like, wear? Cologne wise. Does he smell good or of like, engine oil? I don’t know he looks like the kind of person I imagine to smell luxurious or of nothing at all.” Ned considered this, completely oblivious to the looks on his companion’s faces, “Actually, laundry. He’s a solider right? I bet all he smells like laundry detergent.” He nodded, rolling onto his back on Peter’s bed, he resumed the throwing of his tennis ball.

MJ and Peter exchanged silent looks. It appeared he wasn’t the only one with the crush.

“Yeah Pete, tell us,” Her voice was already laced with humour, “does his eyes match his scent? Do his eyes carry the depth and his body the clarity of fresh ocean spritz? Did his tongue feel like the waves, lapping agains—,”

“ _Oh my god—,”_ Peter covered his ears, “please stop.”

Ned was alive with giggles, nearly rolling off the bed as she just asked again, poking Peter as he stood up and chanted ‘ _lalalala’_ to drown out her insistent obscenities. She was like Bucky in so many ways he’s come to realise; filterless, blunt and crude, uncaring for her audience. Maybe he had a thing for brash individuals with soft spots because he was an entirely soft individual with a tough side when needed; opposites really do attract.

“I’m just asking what everyone is thinking.” She shrugged, winked at Ned. “This is a circle of trust, Pete. Ned throw me the ball whoever has the ball has to speak their truth.”

“Cool.”

Peer turned on his heels, “Don’t be s—,” His quick reflexes betrayed him when he caught the ball in one hand. “That was an accident.”

“So, Peter. Does age really equate experience?”

Ned sat up, a world of sunshine as he witnessed the discomfort unravel on Peter’s face. “I’m not playing.” He shook his head, “Nope.”

“We’re unearthing a few things here, clearly you have an attraction to men twice your age which may be bringing up some suppressed daddy issues we can touch on later—,”

Peter launched the ball at her, pointing, “Too far.” He was doing his utmost not to let the bubbling smile crack his act.

“—too far? Or too dark. Because that’s the other issue surfacing here, your attraction to danger. Do you think the attraction towards a grown ass man who could snap you in half with one hand—,”

Peter groaned hiding his flushed face behind his hands.

“—is a _direct_ effect of the spider-bite or a developing kink?” She held out an imaginary microphone and Ned exploded.

“MJ.” Peter was stood with his hands on his hips. He was trying to locate something smart to retaliate with but as stupid as she was being and as _embarrassingly_ ridiculous this entire thing was she was raising some valid points and he didn’t know how to feel about that realisation. “MJ.” He repeated, “Can you please stop?”

“The people are waiting, Mr Parker.” She waggled her eyebrows but something caught her eye just beyond the boy stood rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Also does your boyfriend know you’re a total nerd who collects Star Wars figurines and takes pretty landscape pictures in his spare time when he’s not busy being spider-boy?”

“ _Hey!_ ” Ned yelped, “You leave them out of this.”

The speed he leapt to defend his collection was admittedly worrying. “You will not insult Hans Solo under this roof.” Peter turned to the figurines stood proudly along one of his shelves, plucked R2-D2 and kissed it, “Don’t listen to her you’re all super cool.”

MJ brought the imaginary microphone back to her mouth, “So, does he know?” Threw the ball back at Ned and stuck her tongue out.

“I mean, I guess…” After placing the figure back carefully next to Princess Leia, he smiled, happy, quickly dropped to a frown when he remembered what was just said, “wait, he’s not my _boyfriend,_ it’s definitely not— don’t call him that.”

She just waited, waggling the invisible device.

Peter sighed, looked to Ned for help but he was just too amused by everything going on here, raising his hands as if to say _don’t look at me_.

“No, MJ. I don’t think he does know that much about me y— actually,” He paused on his way to the desk, turning with a finger raised, “he has been in my room before so maybe he saw them then.” Couldn’t believe he were responding to her barbaric questioning with a genuine answer, still, he thought on it. “So yeah I guess there’s a chance he do—,”

“Are you referring to ‘boner gate’?”

“Ha!” Ned nodded, bouncing the ball between his hands, “Nice.”

“ _What?_ ”

MJ clarified, “Boner gate. The night he gave his twink his first boner.”

“ _What is wrong with you—_ ,”

“Is that the night you are referring to or have you two spent more than one romantic evening together?”

Peter was about to answer, when—

“This segues us to the topic of boners. Is he as big as we thought?”

At this point, Peter was really just focusing on getting the air into his lungs, gulping down the empty spaces between her prodding and Ned’s annoying additions that only spurred the whole thing on. “ _We?_ ” Probably not the first thing that should’ve come out his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ned, “you know when some guys just look like they’re packing.”

Peter looked to MJ. She nodded. Back to Ned.

“No,” Peter couldn’t believe what was coming out his mouth, “no Ned I don’t—,”

“Yeahhh you do, some guys you can just tell.”

“Can I clarify that I’m still the only gay person in this room?” Peter was horrified, looking between these two people trying to remember why he _chose_ them to be best friends. MJ laughed, a cute little bark of a laugh that soon filtered off into the usual uninterested expression, clearing her throat. She nodded, remembered she was supposed to be holding a mic and said,

“Answer the question.”

“I’m not answering your stupid question.”

“Your refusal to answer the question answers it.”

“No? It doesn’t?” Peter picked up her phone.

But MJ nodded, leaning forward to whisper across the short space to Ned, “He’s got a baby penis.”

“Oh my god yes!” Peter exclaimed, “Yes, alright? Everything about him is big. I haven’t _seen_ it-seen it yet, just felt it and yes MJ, Ned, he feels and looks very above average and it makes me one hundred billion times more nervous about doing _anything_ physical with him than what I already am so if we could please drop the subject and order some food so Happy doesn’t yell at me again for ordering too late?”

There was a silence, Peter’s lips trilling against the defeated sigh he let out and dropped her phone back atop the desk to take up the Chinese menu they copped a couple weeks back. It was a little tatty and folded around the edges after being shoved in his desk drawer all this time.

“So,” MJ said at length, so quiet Peter almost missed it, “…do you think there’s a serious risk of your kidneys shifting?”

Ned hid behind a pillow to stifle his laughter as Peter’s mouth dropped to the floor, the blush that had began subsiding now back in full force and blossoming from way beneath the neck of his t-shirt, all the way up to his ears. He wrapped his arms around his middle in an involuntary defence to her vivid commentary. Three sharp knocks at the door followed by a short trill beat was the signature of one man only; Stark. 

" _Shtshshhhh-,_ " Peter flapped, raising a finger to his mouth as he literally fell over himself to get to the door, hopscotching across the carpet as he tried to tuck his shoelace away. One death glare back at his friends who both zipped their mouths he sighed and clicked the door open, eyebrows high, eyes soft, "Hi Tony." Voice light, "What's up?"

The man regarded him over the rim of his specs, only just holding back the frown. "Have you guys eaten?" Tony pushed the door open to reveal MJ migrating over to Ned's position on the bed, both gaping back in awe as _the_ Tony Stark was revealed to them. In that moment it came flooding back to the Peter that they hadn't actually officially crossed paths with the genius yet. Brilliant. "Well?"

"No Sir, we are going to uh," Ned patted around on the bed for the menu that was all the way over at Peter's desk, "-Sir we were just about to order, Sir. Food."

MJ punched his arm, "Yeah we're about to order some Chinese food if you wanna join," She smiled that smile she always did, looking at a flustered looking Peter and tacked on mockingly, "uh, Mister Stark, _Sir._ " 

Peter couldn't look back anymore, just raised hopeful brows at the man. Hopeful that he was struck with sudden hearing loss and didn't catch a word. 

"Sure why not."

"What?" All three teenagers were in unison.

Ned was on his feet like he was one word away from a salute. 

Tony smirked, grabbed Peter by the back of the neck and shucked him lovingly, "You guys get to ordering. If you get mine wrong you're grounded. Peter and I, well," The hand turned to his hair, ruffling it, "we need a quick talk." 

Peter wasn't given the option of looking back to his friends as he were shifted along the corridor and into the elevator situated at the forked end. Brown eyes kept risking glances at the man's profile, the beard hadn't been trimmed in a couple of days because odd hairs were at odd ends. Tired, busy. He kept sniffling like he were coming down with a cold. Probably from stress. Stress brought on by Peter. He sighed and let the boy walk in before him, the ride down pin-drop silent. 

"Sir-,"

"Peter, I don't want to patronise you."

Peter swallowed his words and listened intently as the ride slowed down and his tummy swooshed from the motion. They walked in unison into the lab.

"I don't want to fall out, do you want to fall out?"

The way which Tony weaved in and around the desks without looking at them was charming to Peter, something domestic in it despite this technically being a place of work, this was the place of work which wasn't a chore, it was home. He looked back at the younger when no answer came and his eyebrows met his hairline. "Is this the silent treatment?"

" _No,_ sorry," Peter giggled, shaking his head and hurtling full speed ahead like the handbrake had just been lifted, "I was lost for a second sorry, no. No I don't want to fall out." He shook his head again, following but not looking at Tony stood near the bench with his arms crossed, "I just, I guess I don't want you to not trust me because of one tiny _m-oof-,_ "

He walked straight into Tony's side and blinked up at him, confusion evident as his spidey senses failed him for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

"I don't know whether it's cute or stupid that you're asking me to trust you and your judgements when you can't even walk in a straight line without walking into something." Tony rolled his eyes and Peter scowled playfully. "Stationary."

"You know what Mister Stark? Maybe we will fall out." He squinted at him and got a tap to the head, making him giggle. 

"You have the intimidation level of a baby duck, come here." 

Instantly, the boy's interest peaked when he located the box the man had been intermittently staring down at all this time. It was wrapped in blue paper, with a light blue foil bow on top. Peter didn't want to become presumptuous but his spidey senses were definitely tingling now at the likelihood of that being his. Maybe that had nothing to do with his enhancements and was just plain ol' giddy excitement. "What's that?" He said, brows high, voice higher.

"You understand why I want you safe."

"Yes."

"You also understand, why I don't want you around certain individuals for certain amounts of time, or alone, or," He took off his glasses, laid them on the bench, "at all."

Peter's stomach dropped. He tried his best not to let the guilt bleed into his voice, "I do." He nodded, biting his lips when his mentor began to look a little troubled, like he were coming to several conclusions at once, then doubting himself and spawning new problems seconds later, "We don't have to go through this again, I understand why you reacted the way you did and I'm sorry for being..." He couldn't believe he was lying, "stupid, and not thinking. I'm sorry." Only half lying then.

"I don't want you to think I'm treating you like a kid."

"No, I get it."

"With everything that you are, everything that you _mean_ to me-," Peter jumped up on the side, began swinging his legs, "I gotta be careful because you, rarely are."

They'd had this talk a million times before and Peter always understood. They'd had it when they first moved him into the compound. When he was beat up by his fellow students recently. Last year after Barnes tore up Manhattan, it was drilled back into him. Every time something happens Peter is reminded why Tony's bubble is around him and why it's going to have to be for a very long time until he deems it suitable to let it burst or, he's no longer around to protect it. Peter understood, truly. But it doesn't mean it wasn't difficult and it doesn't mean the man was always right. 

He nodded while Tony reiterated the importance of vigilance, watching his bony ankles knock together a couple times. He pulled the string of his hoodie tighter, sudden paranoia sweeping over his body as he spoke about healing and what not; it'd been 24 hours since the marks were sucked into his neck by mortal force, and just like any other bruise he acquired they were already fading. But they were still very much there, flecked against his otherwise perfect skin. The memory of their affliction brought on a turn in his tummy and he squeezed his thighs together, zoned back into the room to hear Tony's voice, "...so, with that being said," Peter let go of his hoodie, shuck his hands out from where he were rolling them beneath his sleeves and made a bowl with his palms, "for you."

He double checked, got far too enthused when the man nodded, watching him fondly as he tore the paper but was careful not to rip the bow in the process. "Mister Stark you-,"

When he pulled off the last tacking of tape and saw the Apple logo his jaw dropped. 

"It was either that or a flip phone."

" _Mister Stark this is like a grand this is a thousand dollars in a box!"_

Tony sucked in breath, "I had to empty all my piggy banks for it."

The pure joy that beamed from the kid was enough to tell Tony it was a job well done. Sometimes, it was forgotten how new this world was to the boy. Not the world of superheroes and alien technology but the world of money. Tony was born into it but Peter was raised humbly, working class with a family that lived pay check to pay check and in these moments of gratefulness where he stumbled over his words to thank him and _mister stark are you sure?_ it was a charismatic reminder of the boy's grounding. More fuel to Tony's protective flames.

"No tracker."

Peter nearly dropped it, "No tracker?"

"Just kidding of course there'll be a tracker, I gotta know you're not wandering off into trouble when in reality you're just stopping off for _bagels_."

The come down from that very brief high of hope was sickening and Peter had to look away to hide any disappointment. He shouldn't be so ungrateful. Mr Stark continued to explain how the old phone he'd left behind had been disconnected from the database and this here new one, will be hooked up some time Monday when he's got enough time to think. Sunday was going to be an unusually busy one for him. Peter nodded along like a bobble head and launched onto him in a full force full clamp hug. His palms smacked against his back, fingertips walking across his shirt to get a tighter grip on this wonderful man, despite him remaining oddly still in the embrace. It didn't matter, he was used to it. Physical acts of affection were rare and that was alright because Peter had that share for the both of them to make up for it, grand gestures and fatherly drop-ins were more his style and the boy could only respect that, squeezing him real tight one final time before mumbling a muffled, _thank you so much_ into his tie. 

"Mister- Tony, Tony can I just ask one thing?"

"That was it, you used up your one question allowance for the day."

" _Tonyyy_ ," He stepped back and rubbed his eyes, Tony lifting his chin to look at him. He pouted. "I was wondering if maybe you could ease up a little like, after college at least?"

He knew it was dangerous territory but he was feeling brave enough to cross it, brave enough to hit the man while he were softened anyway. "Elaborate." Pocketed his hands.

"Well," Peter rocked on his heels, began inspecting the box again, lifting the phone from the concave, "like after school if I want to hang out with some friends I can? And like, not come _straight_ back to the compound once my classes are done? Because I get it but maybe it'd be cool if I could just have a little bit of freedom with time and stuff, you'd have my tracker so you'd know I'm safe and I totally understand if you don't wan-,"

"I'll think about it."

Peter snapped his jaw shut, a gradual, heartbreakingly innocent smile spreading across his face. "Thanks."

*

Two days had passed. Two sunrises, two sunsets. Two mornings which he woke at the same time when most the city was still snoozing at 7:15AM on a weekend, two mornings which he'd wake, stretch over to the side to check the phone was still lit up and open and hadn't drained its battery from being open for so long. Two mornings straight he thought nothing of it, noted the increase in the number count on the messages and emails but minded his business. 

Saturday came and went with Steve on the end of the phone asking how he wasn't surprised he'd managed to piss Tony off less than 24 hours into his absence. He was littered with texts from Natasha and Sam, who had been pestering him something rotten about that damn games night. It was like he were put on this earth to press every hidden button Bucky possessed, to tug at the thin veil of patience he donned until he finally snapped and the man would just be stood there with a camera to click! capture the moment for the memory book. There were few redeemable qualities he felt he had himself, but Sam, Sam had many that made it very easy to be charmed. As annoying as he was. 

Still, there was no way he was going to agree to a 'games night,' or at least Sam's idea of said games night. He knew exactly how that was going to go down and it would involve a lot of alcohol, most of which would be consumed by Natasha who had a loose tongue on a regular day but once oiled up by a few beers or those cherry flavoured cocktails she adores, things would spill. And it wouldn't be the drink. He knew she would find a way to smuggle Peter into the equation and it would be an all round frustrating, uncomfortable occasion. Plus thanks to the serum disabling his ability to get drunk or high or enjoy any sort of toxic medium that for most recent months may have been favourable, he'd have to sit through the whole thing stone cold sober. He was never a frequent smoker, more social, but he sure missed the option. 

_Nat: 'All i'm saying, is tread carefully. I don't want you served for dinner one night at the compound,'_

_Nat: 'Unless it's those sweet cheeks,'_

Bucky stopped on the pavement, squinted at the screen to check he'd seen it properly. He may have scoffed a little at her unabashed way. He was shook out of it when a passerby shoved at his shoulder in passing. He adjusted his cap and tapped out a reply.

_'Does Bruce know you're this disgusting?'_

_Nat: 'Why do you think he's with me'_

_Nat: 'Scientist and the assassin it's a love story gone wrong,'_

Bucky hung his head as he trailed up the stairs towards his apartment.

_'If you're about to make that association between Peter and I, refrain.'_

He already hand his keys jangling from the fingers that were clutching the milk and a newspaper. 

_Nat: 'I WAS TYPING IT BEFORE YOU SENT THAT'_

_Nat: 'Okay barnes, this conversation is pinned. I have a hot date with romanoff noodles'_

He wasn't confident whether she was actually about to eat some noodles or if it were a filthy euphemism. Didn't want to know. Did know, he was glad he were alone tonight.

A reminder served upon nearly tripping over the box of cat food jutting out from the far counter. Grumbling, he shoved it back with the side of his foot, almost certain he’d left it tucked away neatly and hadn’t moved it for any reason; didn’t need to. He had to wait another week for the kitten he was fostering to be done with all checks etcetera to bring her home. Another thing he would have to endure if he gave into Sam’s begging for a get-together. He could already hear Steve’s two cents about having a thing for small defenceless little things, this being something he’s made a point out of twice in a few months and it was growing old. And relevant. He just liked cats, although he might have to look into adopting a Rottweiler or something to balance it out.

Sunday was the day he usually reserves for doing the least. It’d taken a long time to get into a routine despite regiments being part of his blood, he didn’t believe in there being a whole day set aside to simply rest. Most would comment he’d done in enough in his prolonged life to warrant the remainder of his days being restful, and a part of him would agree, the part that finds tranquillity when visiting Shuri and her family in the green sanctorum of Wakanda. The part of him that found itself doing nothing more than sitting on the bench at 5:30AM for no other reason but to watch the sun rise across the Hudson. The part that of him that gets lost to his quiet thoughts and the gentle trill of jazz cosseting from his record player while he reads, or sleeps. All the spaces in which he can do anything but think, until PTSD rears its ugly head and the moment is ripped from beneath him. He can enjoy a moment only so long until his old life comes back to him. Times gone by from being Sergeant Barnes to the harrowing flashes of Hydra. War was something that wound itself through his very veins, but he'd signed up to fight for his country not destroy it. The cold sweats were rare now but still present; his last one coming January of this year after the attack on New York early last. He didn’t talk about it.

Bucky didn’t talk about a lot of things. He’d be the first to call someone on their bullshit and the first to end a fight someone was stupid enough to start, but he didn’t let out the inner workings of his own tribulations.

This Sunday, was supposed to be exactly like the rest. He was supposed to be able to come home and make whatever he wanted for dinner, maybe order whatever he wanted if he were feeling lazy enough, and just be. He had a book pinned that he’d not managed to pick up again for the past two days and it was for the exact same reason this Sunday was definitely not going to be like the rest.

“Of course.” He spoke to no one but himself, sighing as he came back into his bedroom and saw the phone was still lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

He didn’t know how long these things were designed to stay operational for but on second thought, he lived in a world of aliens and vibranium so the concept of a cellular device being able to stretch on for days and weeks without crashing or burning into the display really wasn’t a far throw.

Stripped of his shirt from his back it left him in only his white tank top in the oddly humid apartment. The fans were clicked on and Bucky perched at the edge of his bed to remove his boots. They were put with the rest, neat. The options for distraction against the torture of knowing there was a world available to him were becoming threadbare. Peter’s, world. Just six feet away and he was too honourable to infiltrate it.

Honourable. Bucky smirked at the image provided of the eighteen-year-old on his back, stuffed full of his fingers.

There was something liberating and irritating that came with the admittance of liking this boy. He felt no shame, no age difference could bother him, no perverted accusations anyone could sling would deter him from any intentions. In fact, they may just encourage it. He wanted to see him again soon, needed to establish something with him beyond this crippling silence or else he might just waltz into the College campus and extract him from his library session. For the smallest of moments, Bucky allowed himself to go down that route and fantasise about the look of delicious horror obstructing the boy's elfin face. Technically, no one would stop him. No one really _could_. "Technically." Bucky mumbled.

He'd get to see him for training on Tuesday. That's if stickinthemud Stark wasn't dragging him by shackles himself. He wasn't busting at the seams to see him, just, had this lingering itch to do something. Touch him, hear him. Even if he could simply see him, silently observe him trace shapes idly with his pen again while he listened to Beck talk about different metals and their durability.

Getting up he pushed out of the bedroom with determination and returned with the same amount, swiping the phone. He decided _fuck it_ , his place in Hell had already been secured with his roster of sins and opened up the photos. The messages he could ignore, he didn’t need to know about any of those things, didn’t interest him, just needed to look, grasp, see something to settle his craving.

Peter’s voice came into his head then, something about the lack of a picture on his own background. It’d never bothered him until now.

Scrolling, he soon realised it were a particular habit of the boy’s to take progress pictures of quite literally, everything. All his projects for college, some pictures of Bucky’s skin prototype— or SimSkin, that it were being dubbed. A few videos of it too, which Bucky didn’t make it through. He’d seen, heard enough of Beck’s voice droning on about the same old shit for days now so unless it were Peter’s two cents he didn’t care to listen. He slowed down when he saw a candid picture of Nat balancing what looked like a cornflake on the tip of her nose.

“Jesus.” Didn’t quite feel the smile on his lips.

There were other sporadic ones of a boy around his age, chubby and adorable looking. Mostly goofy ones or candid ones that contained a girl who frequented his camera roll too. She looked like he’d get on with her. There weren’t many photos she didn’t have a middle finger up or looked some degree of disgusted.

Bucky enlarged one were the three of them were smiling, however. They were laid back on what looked like a bed, in a circle. Peter was taking the picture and they were smiling so wide they must’ve been laughing. Bucky couldn’t admit how long he were staring at the boy’s mischievous grin; eyes crinkled and sparkling from pure happiness.

He took a sip of water to wet his pallet and settled back into the armchair, ready to call his invasion to an end when something crisp caught his eye. It was a _selfie_.

Or something along those lines.

He checked the battery; a thin green block.

Wasn't provocative, in fact it was the very nature of its innocence that had Bucky stuck to the spot of perversion. The accidental allure of it rooted in it. The boy had obviously scraped himself, somehow. Probably while swinging around in that suit or, by the looks of the colossal graze to his side, without it. He was stood in the mirror of a bathroom; modern, well lit, minimal. Stark's. His sweater was lifted and twisted to the side to reveal the tight line of his bodily profile, the tone to his compact, fine little muscles, torso turned at an angle that allowed them to be slightly tense. 

Bucky palmed his quickly fattening cock through his jeans, that part of him not experiencing the same apprehension he was. If he didn’t at least unbutton it was going to start to ache. So, placing the phone down on the armrest he popped it, unzipped his fly. He sat there, blue eyes absent of moral comprehension for a moment before he shoved his hand past the waistband and freed his cock. It slapped against his stomach, heavy and intolerably hard already.

“Fuck,” He could feel the swell of his balls. It was no wonder he'd gotten to this state so fast. They were tight, so ready to unload for the past 48 hours it was ludicrous for him to deny it any longer.

Just a stroke won’t do any harm. He gripped his shaft, the thickness feeling good between his palm, familiar and warm and fuck he couldn’t think of Peter’s hand. He was going to last thirty seconds tops if he pictured those soft hands grasping at him. Would probably be eager about it, eager to please him, eager to learn from him. Be so, _good_.

A groan pushed out his throat and he tightened his fist, pulling a long stroke up his mammoth length as a long drop of precum oozed from the tip over his thumb. A couple of cusses tumbled out and he repeated the action, eyes slipping open a second to watch then closed again to regain his perverted trail of thought.

The tips of his fingers being suckled were enough to keep him on edge since he left and it didn’t take a lot for him to imagine the stretched out pink around the tip of his dick. Hand securing the length, mouth serving his tip as he grew accustomed to having a big cock fill out his mouth— Bucky worked himself steadily, the wetness his milky precum provided was more than enough for comfortable friction. The pulsing from his hand jacking his shaft fell in time with how he’d have Peter do it. Not too fast, just steady. Consistent, and firm. Would make him nurse his tip throughout, boy’d probably be so subbed out and greedy though he’d willingly choke himself to prove he could make a few more inches fit.

The thought had Bucky convulsing, back arching a little as his balls grew even tighter. “Shit, boy,” He whispered, slapping his cock into his metal palm a few times to slow himself. It was useless. He peered down, tip glistening, a vein risen and winding around his girth form the tension he’d built. Head hung back, he worked his fist until the slick sounds of precum and the blood pumping in his ears were the only things he could hear, the faint memory of Peter's sob wrecked moans a perfect backdrop against the disgusting imagery he entertained. He felt his balls spasm, his cock growing too hot, too rigid, the image of Peter so _obscene_ he were a few tugs from finishing. That was until the phone vibrated on the arm rest and Bucky's wrist faltered. The groan he let out wasn't human, low and disgruntled as he checked the screen, stared at the unknown number. It was a bump to his rhythm but not a block. Where others would feel some morsel of guilt tapping the decline button on someone else’s phone Bucky felt nothing, wasn’t prepared to feel anything right now except his hand beating his long-neglected cock.

One glance at the picture again, the twist in his naval was back and so were his lewd thoughts. He turned the phone over to place it down again but it buzzed just before it hit the surface. Groaning, he checked and was a _second_ away from locking until he saw the flicker- of his own fucking name.

"Bucky it's me..." Murmured the message as it became clear exactly who it was, "...new phone."

New phone.

Took a beat to realise what was happening. Took a few blinks of his glazed eyes to even try and rid the haze of arousal. Took all of three, maybe four seconds for the boy to call again. 

"Peach." Bucky raised the phone seamlessly to his ear.

Peter, blithely unaware of his current position, was a hesitant presence on the other end. Bucky could hear the grin. "Bucky."

God, he could listen to his name on loop if it fell from that mouth every time. 

"Bit risky," He licked his lips, peering down at the state of his cock laid angry against his navel, "he'll be tracing this."

"Nope," The softly smug lilt to his voice almost turned him on _more,_ "nuh uh, he hasn't had chance to hook this thing up yet. Any calls or messages made between now and uh," There was movement on the line, it was soft, muffled, "-sorry. Uh, yeah anything I do is incognito from now until sometime tomorrow, so."

Bucky ran a finger along underside of his shaft, imagined it to be Peter's kitten tongue. "So?"

" _So_ ," He pressed, "I wanted to call you."

"Mh," Bucky smiled, dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, "well done. Co-ordinated those baby fingers well enough to make it happen."

The sound he just made, the small sound of whatever it was was bratty and Bucky wanted to bite it. "M- I don't have uncoordinated fingers." Bucky shuffled his hips, gripped his cock upright, "Or baby fingers."

Bucky really needed to get a grip on his mental state too or he was going to end up pouring some dirty drivel down the line to a sweet unsuspecting little boy and send him running. The things, the pressure, the horror he'd subject his body to right now if he could would scare him into celibacy if he let them slip this early. He cleared his throat but his voice remained full of grit. "Let's not get into an argument you'll lose."

"Like you did with Mister Stark?"

It was apparent he were feeling bratty, despite the tremble in his voice, despite the fact Bucky didn't need visible proof to know he were probably fiddling with something to refocus his nerves, chewing the inside of his mouth, waiting for any quiver of approval from the man so he didn't feel neglected. 

"I didn't lose anything but patience-," 

"Is your ego sore?"

"Is your ass?"

Collecting a drip of precum Bucky spread it over the tip and held back a hiss, resting his head to the side as he took up slowly working his cock to the sound of an unbelievably flustered boy telling him _he can't say that_ , "And your neck? How're those holding up."

"They're," He must be laying on his bed, belly down, "kind of there. Pretty much fully healed but y'know, just super faint speckles or something." 

"I'll have to put in twice the effort next time."

"So... you're not mad at me?" 

That nearly had him dropping his dick entirely, " _Mad?_ "

"Yeah you seemed- well," He was so unsure of himself, "before I left you just looked mad at me and I thought I'd done something really wrong."

This boy.

"No, Peach, haven't done anything to make me mad. Just had my little treat snatched from my arms didn't I?" 

" _Your?_ " Peter was moving a lot, "I don't know if-,"

"Mine." 

Miles away, Peter squeezed the pillow slotted between his thighs, everything about this man staggeringly intense. "Y-yours."

Bucky said it was clear he'd have to continue reminding him of that each time he saw him.

"Yeah but, _when_ Bucky?" There was his name again. "Because Mister Stark won't let me go to the city to train anymore-," Bucky grit his teeth, "-and he's not exactly going to want you anywhere _near_ the compound yet not so soon after, not even if it Nat insists! So, I don't know it's just made it so much more complicated now we don't have any way t-,"

Bucky shushed him gently, it didn't work at first but then it sunk in and Peter quickly quietened. He reminded him that there was such things as College and Beck's now convenient project, something they both had in common. Bucky had no issue being a sneak, his life had largely depended on sinking into the background and going off the radar so he owed nobody nothing. The kid however, was new to it and still held doubts over risking it. Didn't take much more encouragement from the older man to have him easing up and giggling at the thought of sneaking away for kisses like lovestruck teenagers. And yeah, Peter was definitely on his tummy in bed. He could hear the sheets moving around him, the muffled giggles into the soft cushioning of a pillow was a giveaway.

"Where are you?"

Bucky's cock twitched, the excruciatingly slow pace that'd been set was only adding another layer to his already overdue, impending, orgasm. 

There was silence, another little shuffle. "My bed, I know it's only 7:30 but I just wanted to be cozy n' warm. You?"

"Living room, armchair," Bucky's communication was beginning to fall back to that of a caveman's, too close to his release it was torturous, "take a picture for me, send it so I can liven up my background."

"Of- you want a picture of me right now? M'in a t-shirt and, uh,"

"And what?" 

It sounded like he dropped the phone, spoke quickly, "Underwear."

"Take a picture, Peach."

It was a request but they both knew the boy didn't have an option, didn't want one. After a shaking confirmation he asked if Bucky would hold on one second and he did, hand making the now _purple_ head of his cock disappear and pulling it back down his length. One or two more of those and he was going to bust, the knowledge Peter was half naked in his bed, under Stark's roof not only talking to him but snapping a picture for Bucky's eyes only was food to his very not, sore ego. 

"Okay, done." Shit, the boy didn't lie. Two buzzes came through on Bucky's jaw and he smiled, breath coming a little heavy.

"Sweet boy." The noise he got in return meant he needed to hang up asap, because it was going to turn dirty. "I'll message you in a few about next week, alright?"

"Mhm."

"Is that a yes, Bucky?"

" _Yes_ , Bucky." The bell of his giggle was celestial.

"I gotta go." He shut down the whine of protest immediately, "I said, I gotta go." 

Peter wasn't happy about it, Bucky wasn't happy about it, but this couldn't happen. Not right now. He had been edging for too long to be any sort of normal around the boy to have a diginified conversation so after a promise to message him as soon as he could, they hung up. 

Bucky sighed, not entirely convinced his forehead wasn't damp by now as he immediately opened up the messages. He expected something cute and childish, got exactly that. The first one was Peter's face barely peaking over the top of of his covers, hazelnut curls askew and haloed on his pillow. His eyes were brown and wide, almost comically cartoonish as they looked to side like he were peeping out. The tender twinge in Bucky's chest was something to be debated another time. 

He opened up the second message though and this could be settled right here and now. Completely unexpected, "Little shit," Bucky cussed on a ragged breath, grip on his cock rough as he surveyed the image. 

Peter was holding the camera up high above him, high enough to catalogue his body from hips up to his nose. His fair lips were parted, pink, wet. The t-shirt he had on was some vintage movie reference, made him appear to be years his junior. It was tight enough, pulled tighter from his position so the outline to his lithe shape was visible, traceable. Lifted up at the bottom to reveal a sliver of a pale navel, a pair of pure white underwear and just the _tip_ of his modest bulge. His nipples were hard and his hand was resting idly on his torso, like it were a candid last minute shot and not an intentional one that he damn well knew would gear Bucky up and tease him to insanity. 

Metal fingers flipped the phone over, took one last look at the image on screen, one look at that porcelain skin and tiny waist and his palm beat his cock. Slamming his hand up and down, up and down, up and down— maybe five more times until he had to grip the armrest to avoid crushing the device and his vision wiped out, screwed his eyes shut as he came, _hard._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a breezy chapter; quite slow paced, enjoy fellas.

He knew it was coming, but that still didn’t make it any less irritating.

Sam’s face, definitely didn’t make it any easier. His smug, shit eating grin as he waltzed on up behind Steve, swagger in tact and that _you done fucked up_ look in his eyes that had Bucky wanting to slam a fist into his jugular.

“I go for one weekend and all that progress we made goes ten steps back.”

“I think ten steps is a little dramatic,” Sam, the voice of reason, piped up, “come on now.”

Bucky was pleasantly surprised, side eying him until, “-you’d have to be at least ten steps forward to account that loss. And ol’ Buck stupid here,” Clapped his shoulder, “ensures that’ll never happen.”

Bucky looked at the hand. “Do you and Natasha just sit around talking shit about me?”

“Not all the time. Sometimes we make rag dolls out of you and stab them.” He prodded his chest, “That pain you feel in your joints that’s not old age my friend that’s me.” He continued to jab-jab-jab until Bucky shucked the hold, rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, listen-,”

Steve was mid stretch, voice not strained when he, “Who takes a twenty-five minute toilet break?”

Sam scoffed, “Depends what you ate.”

Instantly hating himself for it, Bucky chuckled but soon stopped, they both did once caught by Roger’s anything-but-amused expression. “No one takes that long.”

He was used to early starts, the sharp slap of the misty temperature that came with small hours of the AM and all but this morning was a little different than most, Bucky could barely keep his eyes from drooping, dry, every time he blinked it felt as though someone were dusting his eyeballs with sand. He just had to make it through the jog and he could spend the rest of his day in peaceful quarantine away from Steve’s moral compass.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Steve,” He began jogging, shrugging back at the two men, “kid turned up at my front door what was I supposed to do?”

“ _Hey—_ ,” Sam called when Steve picked up his pace, “human pace, guys. Human pace.”

His voice was like a whistle in the wind as Steve caught up to his partner, “You should’ve had him in and out.”

No response came, the only sound was their feet hitting the pavement almost in rhythm with the other and their short breaths. Steve began his lecture— the same, similar, never really wavering lecture on the importance of building the morale and finding peace. The same old drivel about needing to give Tony time and examples of why he should and _could_ trust him. Bucky would always give the same answer, it would always be an argument on how it’s been long enough and a man of his IQ should be able to process the lack of accountability for induced action. But Steve, fucking, Steve Rogers would continue to _understand_ , and empathise with him— act like he did anyway, right before dipping back into a full thrown debate on how it must be difficult to locate reason or rationale when it came to the person who is responsible for not only mass death and destruction, but his own family. 

_The two people who meant more to him than anyone_. Bucky'd heard it so many time it couldn't possibly be more engrained into his skull. He got it. Crystal clear guilt, unyielding remorse fully received. He'd heard the same story so many time now it was losing its value. He could punch Steve square in the face every time. 

“ _Fellas!”_ Sam, “Sick of this sh—,”

But they were gone again, Bucky looking back and smiling. Threw a wink that he didn’t know if he’d caught it or not. 

“Is this mean?” Steve asked, slowing to bounce down the steps. 

“What?” 

“Doing this to him every time?” 

“Nah.” Bucky’d never answered something quicker, squinting up through the trees at a cluster of birds chirping away. Central Park was beautiful at this time; minimal human intrusion. “He’s the product of an ego left unchecked; we’re doing him a favour.”

And just like that, it was easy again. The topic was dropped and they went about the next ten or so minutes in silence continuing to do laps around their favourite route, side by side. Bucky wished the parallel solidarity ran just as literal in Steve’s alliance between him and Stark sometimes, but he wouldn’t open that page without cause. 

It wasn’t until the whiff of a bagel stand being set up had Sam falling out of pattern and Steve pointed it out, both coming to join him beside a bench he were stretching out on, that Steve mentioned anything. “Nat told me to go easy on you.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair— sometimes he forgot he didn’t have to tuck it behind his ears anymore or how he didn't need to run with a hair tie strapped around his wrist.

“She’s the better half of all of us combined.” Bucky’s eyes glittered, bringing his t-shirt up to pat the sweat off his face.

“She also leads with her heart.”

_What if it just came out._ What if, he just hit him with the truth right there and confessed this unexplainable _desire_ for an eighteen year old kid had found roots in Bucky’s chest and he’s nowhere knowing what that means, or how far it goes, but he’s going with it. What if he just admitted that he were knuckle deep in the boy. Sam may even be thrown off his appetite for the freshly baked bagel.

Nah. No, that would never happen.

“I know exactly what’s gonna solve this.”

Steve stood, hands on hips with a look on his face like he expected something useful to come out his mouth. After all this time, he should know better. After all this time, he should be more readily aware. More like Bucky, who was already closing his eyes in prep for whatever was about to bust from his mouth.

“What’s that?” Cap asked a little out of breath, lifted his chin.

“Games night.”

Both Bucky and Steve groaned in unison, “Oh for _fucksa_ —,”

*

Summertime meant lighter mornings and longer evenings, ice creams and ice cold drinks with funky straws and bruises on his knees from climbing and falling off things he shouldn’t be climbing in the first place. It also meant humid temperatures and hay fever. At least, pre-bite it did. Now Peter’s grazes would fade quickly and his tolerance to hay fever has sky-rocketed; he barely got sick and if he got a sniffle it was gone by night fall. His immune system meant he could enjoy all the stupid things he used to before and somewhat get away with it and also beast through life with minimal physical consequences. It didn’t however, affect the dusting of freckles left behind by the sun’s rays. It didn’t, give him the ability to look directly into said sun and not be temporarily blinded either, both of which were sorely prompted in the space of thirty seconds. 

“Are you even listening to me?” MJ sat up on her elbows and kicked him in the shin.

“Yes- God, yes,” He winced, held his hand up to the sun beaming down on him, “you would be the mob leader, no you wouldn’t be the bitch.”

“Thank you freckles.” 

Peter rubbed his face with the back of his hand. “Why are we discussing this again?”

“Because, in the likely event I get caught for doing something I shouldn’t be doing I want everyone to know that while I’m in there I ain’t being nobody’s bitch.” 

“Unlikely.”

“Sorry?”

“You said in the likely event.”

Silence.

Pete uprooted some more grass, waiting for her to answer but she simply side-eyed, smiled and waggled her brows. 

“Shut up man,” He shoved her shoulder with his, giggling as he went about collecting a couple of daises. He wouldn’t outwardly admit he were looking for the longest stems in order to make a good enough daisy chain, squinting at the ones just out of reach that looked for all intents and purposes, perfect.

“I’m the alpha.” She concluded, stretching so far a collection of curls fell over her eyes, “-oh speaking of, any word of Mr Buff Boyfriend Barnes?”

Her volume was very shallow, barely even audible to the boy himself despite them being elbow to elbow and yet he still shushed her, “Sh-,” checking over their shoulders at any bystanders that could’ve picked up with super-human frequency. “Uh, no. Don’t say his name we need a code.”

“Boyfriend.”

“We’re not using that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not my boyfriend, I’m not getting into this conversation for the 26th time.”

“No, I know that. But boyfriend isn’t a suspicious code word because it’s so unrealistic. Peter Parker has a boyfriend? _Pah!_ Nah they gotta be talking about something el-,” She ended up with a near mouthful of shredded grass and spluttered. 

“You may be the alpha but you’re not funny.”

They passed the next few minutes in comfortable silence or thereabouts, mainly people watching in the height of the sweltering afternoon sun with MJ criticising Peter’s method of linking daisies. She argued there should be two daises linked at the head then the stem, whereas Peter made a solid argument for looping through the stem consistently; pointing out the flawed messiness of hers compared to his. He also flicked her wrist when she snatched the particular daisy he’d been eyeing up before he had the chance.

“Peter didn’t you uh, have that thing round about now?”

Thing. He frowned, trying to steady his suddenly trembling fingers to loop the next stem through the hole, questioned, “What thing?”

“The thing, the Beck thing. Boyfriend’s arm… thing.”

The girl didn’t get much more than a smudged _ohmygod_ in her ear and he was up, stumbling, nearly fell back down again but aced the landing after a couple seconds of hopping around on one foot, “I’ll- message-,”

And that was all she got, left winking up at the back profile of her best friend rushing off down the hill into the back of campus. “Sure thing.”

By the time he’d reached the office door Peter had incurred two near death by collisions, almost missed a step on his way up the stairs but caught himself on his palms before he went face first and apologised close to ten different people as he weaved in and around them at top speed. Breathing hurt. His chest was heaving in as much oxygen as his lungs would allow and doubled over when he reached the dark glass door, resting his (quite sore) palms on his knees. 

His vision whirred for a few seconds but he was alright, had to be, and knocked cautiously, praying that those three minutes he were overdue weren’t going to go against him. He really, really didn’t fancy upsetting Beck again. Didn’t want to give off the impression he was unreliable or unpunctual. 

The silence that followed his knocks gave little confidence though. Maybe he’d just left. 

Peter’s heart tremors, he wasn’t willing to accept that and knocked again, jogged a little on his feet as the itchy anxiety bloomed in his restless limbs. The tips of his fingers started to prickle a little from the rush up here. He looked to them then peered at the handle and figured, what the hell, went to grab it but it clicked, opened slowly then all at once to reveal someone he was definitely not expecting but by all degree, wasn’t disappointed. 

“Mister-,” He was too used to being around Tony, “ _Bucky_?”

“Mister Bucky.” He thought it over, squinting, “I don’t think it’ll catch on.”

Peter’s confidence went from a fat zero to a heady six at the display of Bucky’s warm wit, shaking his head as he was given room to join him in the office. “I try to avoid all, y’know, gotta be formal and stuff or else, y-you know.”

He knew, Peter was just. Well.

He forgot just how slow Bucky’s mannerisms were off the battlefield. Without threat, the man was slow movements and easy confidence, took his time to shift and talk and it was like a fateful lullaby just to be in his presence. The contrast of Peter’s nervous fiddling and darting eyes were palpable. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Peter didn’t even give him chance to speak, taking up all the verbal space between them like he were fearful of what Bucky had to say if he didn’t, “I— when Mister Beck said he wanted to show me the final prototype before appliance, I didn’t think you’d be needed,” Like maybe if he just kept talking Bucky would forget about wanting to _call things off_ and he wouldn’t have to face rejection, “not that you’re— you’re always needed, I just thought we’d be finalising—,”

“Do you take a breath?” Bucky looked, for lack of more decorative words: hot. Tall, always. Broad, regrettably as it made Peter shiver. Head to toe dark denim, leather and a tight fucking t-shirt that did nothing to hide his physique. He closed in on the boy slowly, his dark brown jacket appeared suede on first glance, soft leather up close on the second. “Is that why you look like you’re one quick move away from imploding most days?”

Peter’s bum hit his Professor’s desk, unaware he’d even backed up enough. "No?" His eyebrows were high, eyes irrevocably wide, mouth curled into a loose ‘o,’ as he tried to think of something to say. A difficult task for the poor boy as the man that’d been the centre of his struggle, fantasy, pain and pleasure for the past couple months was in front of him, _looking_ like that, looking _at_ him like that, being the same cocky bastard he’d been since day dot and yet now? Now, those same attributes he scowled about now had him— “Is that a pout?” 

—Okay, they still had him scowling. But they fused his mind to a one track line that ended up in the lap of Bucky’s will. 

“No,” Peter swallowed, going for casual confidence but coming off petulant, “what do you expect me to be like? I wasn't supposed to see you until Friday and I haven’t seen you in _ages—_ ,”

“Three and a half days.” Bucky corrected. 

Peter mumbled something about it being long enough, shouldering off his backpack to slot into the chair next to them. He squeaked when he was hoisted onto the desk in an embarrassingly quick lift, his thighs parting almost on instinct when the hands underneath them panned round and hooked into the backs of his knees. “Wha—,” He hiccuped his words when he were tugged forward slightly, “what’re you doing?”

“It’s been ages,” Bucky mocked, frowning, “the thought of those lips have been tormenting me for the longest time.”

Peter splat a palm against his pectoral, “Bucky!” The elder almost grinned, curious as to what the fuck was the matter with this wriggling little thing. “Wait, wait—,” Doe eyes were staring at a devilishly curved mouth despite his protest, the pressure —albeit small— behind the hand indicative that he meant it, “we can’t.”

“And why not?” Bucky almost wrung his hands around his knees, dexterous fingers mapping the fragile, bony joints. 

“Beck,” Peter’s palm began curling into a fist, “if he comes in or… he might have stuff in here,” He could feel the Soldier’s heartbeat, fisting the material of his t-shirt, “like cameras or something.” He sounded the least bit convincing that he were going to stop the next advance from the man if he tried it, the more he watched the man, smelt him, felt the warmth from his overbearing presence sink into his thin limbs and flimsy will power. 

Bucky’s chuckle vibrated through the small hand curled at his chest, he didn’t miss the way Peter’s thighs twitched a little tighter around him, “Yeah, because your teacher’s gonna wind back the surveillance to see what his student and client were up to in the ten minutes he’s running late.”

He had a point. It was ignorant to believe a tech giant like Mr Beck wouldn’t have surveillance in and outside his private campus office but would he be interested in running it back to see two people just stood amicably waiting? Probably not. 

“He’s running late?” Peter walked his fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt, over the pulse point and along the dark stubble around his jaw, smiling absentmindedly, “How d’you know that?”

“Well,” Bucky pretended to bite his wandering digits, snapping his jaw, “do you see him?”

“ _Noooo_ ,” Peter giggled, “I mean how do you know that?” He poked his cheek softly, letting his small fingers drift over Bucky’s full lips like it were a puzzle he were trying to decode, fascinated by the quick dart of a tongue that wet them before he spoke. 

“Text me, said he’d be ten. Now you gon’ let me violate you?”

The gasp did things, terrible things to Bucky’s inner strife. His cock reacted to the innocence like it was attached by a string, fattening as he pressed further between the boy’s spread, leant into the desk and pecked his jaw. “ _Think_ … you already… did that,” Peter thought he was being so clever, “Hm-m…,” humming as the Soldier got to work a little on the supple flesh beneath his ear, “n-not much else y—ou,” until a hand came between them and pressed against his taint, “ _B—_ ,” that shut him up.

The checked shirt the boy wore was nearly hanging off his shoulders, some stupid logo tee underneath that made him appear far too young, now a little skewed. Without heed Bucky pressed two digits against the soft denim, right where his tiny hole would be pathetically clenching. “Yeah?” He palmed his taint, the devastating expanse of his hand covering his entire underside in one scoop but he still dug his heel in, probably a little too much against the boy’s balls to elicit a mildly painful yelp from the kid. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

When Bucky connected their mouths it nearly knocked the boy backwards, an arm around his waist to buffer the fall momentarily until he let go only to be pulled down by two slender arms around his neck, the boy slamming himself messily onto the desk. Something shifted above Peter’s head, rolled and now dropped to the floor. One, two, three things did— pens maybe, he didn’t care. Could only focus on the lips slotting between his own. He tried his best to match it, hands coming up to run through coarse hair, _tugging_ at its roots but Bucky was always lead, gentle in his abrasion but firm. It was the perfect balance and Peter could only do his best while the man's expert tongue dipped and licked into his mouth like he’d mastered the art and was well on his way to ownership. 

Mine. 

_His_.

He crossed his legs the best he could round his waist, rolled his hips the best he could under the weight but Peter mewled when a hand was firm at them, cementing them down. He broke their kiss and licked away the thin thread of saliva, “B-uckyy—,”

“Keep,” He kissed his cheek, nipped his jaw, “those still.”

He simply smiled at the challenge, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and rolled his hips underneath the loosened hold which only tightened again immediately, a warning set there that the boy was too quick to ignore. 

Peter _pulled_ on Bucky’s hair and the man hissed, pupil’s blown at the boy’s defiance. He kissed the man's mouth instantly, took him by surprise by collecting that strong jaw between his hands and lapped his pink tongue into his mouth, distracting him entirely for the shortest collection of seconds as he scaled the front of his warm body, down his flanks beneath his jacket— moaned when he reached behind and under his tee to _scratch_ the skin there. That, got Bucky’s hips slamming forward. Peter’s body was jolted upwards and he popped off his lips with an obscene sound.

“You want me to fuck you on this desk?”

Yes?

“ _N—_ ,” No.

Bucky seized his jaw, bringing his face within inches of his own, “Do you want your teacher to walk in here to find his favourite student stretched around my cock? Incoherent?”

Peter tried flexing his jaw but the grip was too strong. “N-no Sir,” Shook his head, “No I—,”

“You don’t want that?” Bucky squeezed his jaw when he tried to shake it no again, “You don’t want him to watch you try take your first cock right here? On his very desk?” 

The vision he was providing. Peter could’ve squirmed, he _did_ squirm. The clock was ticking but his dick was growing. Thankfully, Bucky let go once he realised just how restricted he was to answer, working his sore jaw once and licking his lips, “I don’t,” He shook his head again and sat up right on the desk, “I don’t want that, I’m sorry,” He sounded genuine, almost distraught as the man began to retract himself completely from his vicinity, “ _Bucky_.”

The sob in his voice wouldn’t falter a man of his calibre. It would take a shed load more than a wobbly bottom lip and two big glossy eyes staring at him for him to excuse disobedience and yet, this was no normal boy. He was coming to learn that. He had a lot to remember when it came to someone with a sensory input like Peter, someone as amateur and new to this as he is. Just like Peter had a lot to learn, he did too. Bucky stared at him and softened after a few moments of the boy almost folding in on himself. 

“Hey.” He ignored the throbbing in his groin and collected the boy’s face. “None of that.”

Peter was beginning to grow real tired of how easy it were becoming to drop to such an emotional reaction around this man. He wasn’t going to cry, not really, but the ache in his throat wasn’t pleasant. The dip in his tummy was akin to the one he felt that day he left Bucky’s apartment and no warmth was returned. 

Bucky’s voice again, “Peach.”

Peter reacted to that, wrapped a hand around his wrist, “M’sorry.”

God, this kid was _that_ sensitive. “It’s alright.” And it was, a few firm words between him and his cock and it’d be back to normal. “Gotta listen to me when I tell you not to do things, though.” A thumb rubbed lightly over the rise of his cheek, the pink tinge almost stained there by now. “Somethin’ we’ll have to work on, your obedience and my—,” _Brutish lack of gentility or empathetic awareness because I’ve never had something so maddeningly sweet and delicate between my palms before,_ “patience.”

Peter nodded, spoke his confirmation that he understood out loud when prompted again by Bucky and let him kiss his slightly swollen lips. When they kissed again, Peter lifted his head a little more. The time after that Peter grinned and kissed _him_ , a giggle erupting out the end of it that Bucky wanted to bottle up so he could have it on replay.

“Just,” Peter sat back into his palms, almost teasing the man with the nonchalant display it provided, “excited to see you after three and a half miserable days.”

It was nauseating how Bucky wanted to say, _me too._

“I know.” He leant forward, kissed his nose, “I know.” 

He beckoned for Peter to hop off the desk, realising it was hitting eight minutes since they’d been in there and was _pretty_ sure he’d just heard a click outside in the hallway. Kissed the back of his hand as he assisted him and Peter did his best to hide the feeling it caused in his stomach to translate on his already puppy-love-stricken face. He was in too deep, too early, too quick. This was still, James Buchanan Barnes. There was a voice whose owner he no longer recognised reminding him of that, a whispering warning dancing between the sparks of bliss Mr Barnes had set off between his ears. 

“I think I can get out tonight,” Despite it all, Peter pulled at the bottom of his shirt with a hopeful look, “I can’t guarantee but I think I got a good shot, are you…”

Bucky smirked, “You need a toilet break again?”

He deserved the swat he received to his bicep. Metal, bicep however and that seemed to have gone momentarily over the attacker’s head as Peter flinched, mouthed an _ow_ and shook his hand out. 

“As long as it’s not going to land you or me in the shit with Stark, swing by around 7.”

The door unlocked and Peter smiled wide, “Be careful what you wish for.” 

Mr Beck was flustered, “Gentlemen! Forgive me, Christ I never thought I was going to get out of that conference, holy _hell_ — thank you,” He almost bowed from making such a show of shaking Bucky’s hand, “thank you for waiting, I know you must have a lot more important things to tend to and your time is precious, believe me, I’m stacked out,” Bucky barely reacted, unmoved by the blustering display and instead moved to the two chairs— one of which he pulled out for Peter to sit on without thinking. 

“Ah, yes Pete,” The Professor spoke in that familiar way, a flip of whatever side he’d just used on the man behind him, “never going to let me down.” 

He didn’t know what that meant, just smiled politely and accepted the chair that’d been pulled for him. It was taken over by Beck however, who waited for him to take a seat, watched him shift his weight a little and pushed him forward. “Good boy.”  


The hand at the back of his head was a little too much but Peter wasn’t put off, it was just Professor Beck being Professor Beck. He was eccentric and handsy and he’d didn’t allow room for thought when his senses spiked. 

Bucky on the other hand, had eyes set like stone on the movement. 

As Beck began talking about completion and setting up a date sometime in the coming weeks for full application, Barnes was keeping a check on where Beck’s gaze drifted, noted how long he kept his eye for compared to thelength of time he spent lingering on any part of the oblivious boy next to him. Picking up on the pet names he frequented whilst addressing Peter like he’d known him years not mere months, the switch in tone when addressing Peter and himself, the head tilts, the smiles that fell dead behind the eyes yet felt loaded and left Bucky on full alert. Something about the man since the day he met him had him off kilter. He’d said it to Steve, he’d thought it privately but now he had this immovable pin on his head and he didn’t know why. There were dots, but he couldn’t join them together. There was cause for concern, but no viable enough reason to vocalise. 

Surely the kid could pick up on something— Bucky looked at him, sighed and readjusted in his seat. There was nothing peculiar about him. He was itching the back of his neck, fiddling with his fingers, his clothing, wedging his hands beneath his thighs only to yank them back out again to speak up animatedly; completely and utterly innocent. He was wrapped up in the implacable web of Beck and it filled the Soldier with unease. 

A chilling thought passed through him like a phantom menace. Was that how Stark saw him? 

And if it wasn’t for Bucky’s higher brain power telling him to stop being outright dumb, he could’ve sworn Quentin knew. Something about the tail end of the looks he’d throw Bucky every so often like he were waiting for his reaction, or testing it. Something. It was just one big question mark that he needed an answer to sooner rather than later.

*

“ _Mister Stark pleaaaaase_ —,”

“Kid.”

“Not a kid.” Peter counteracted, stomped his foot.

Tony let that speak for itself and turned to him, tapped his headphone and apologised to whoever was on the other side of that line. “You’re not going, not tonight, I don’t have the tracker in your phone yet and I really don’t need the stress of wondering where you are for the next couple hours on _top_ of the circus I have going on here. Okay?”

“Okay, okay, okay.” The boy honed in on him and stood next to him, nearly on his tiptoes for some reason, “Lemme just— hear me out.”

“Hearing you, is the exact thing I’m trying to put a stop to right now.”

“—So,” Peter pushed regardless, “there’s a tracker in my suit right? So I get to swing around for an hour _tops_. No more than an hour. Then! Then, then _then_ ,” Peter bounced on his feet and grabbed Tony’s arm, very aware of the vein in his neck, “I’ll just swing by Ned’s for another hour or so and be back by 9.” Peter thought on it, scrunching his nose, “…ish.”

Tony was fit to have an aneurysm. 

“Please Tony, please. You promised to start trusting me and my own deductions more, please.”

It was a solid argument and Peter knew he was well on his way to winning it. He just needed that vein to calm down, Mr Stark to take one, deep, centring breath and say the one word that meant defea— “Fine.”

“ _Yes_.” Peter practically beamed, squeezed the man from the side.

“Bu— _oof_ , alright, alright. But. This won’t be a regular thing. Once every two weeks maybe,” Tony made quotation marks mid-air, “tops.”

That was all he needed, Peter could work on him and chip away at the marble set will his mentor had. It wasn’t going to be an easy task but for now it was enough and it was enough to get him where he needed to be, for long enough. It was enough. 

He was gone within twenty minutes; showered, suited and out the compound in quick time. Happy had already been alerted by Tony that he’d be taking a trip into the City in yes, less than five minutes and no, he didn’t care if it was his afternoon off he should know working for him means he’s always on call, especially when there’s a flighty teenager at his beck and call. He was just about pulling on a jacket as Peter jumped to life in the huge foyer, looking the size of ant. 

“What bribe did you pull to get Tony to agree to this?”

Peter was offended.

Happy knew him too well. “Nothing,” He shrugged, practically skipping alongside him, “just a mutual understanding we’ve both come to.”

Happy didn’t believe him, but didn’t push it. “And the bag?”

He’d almost forgotten he had it, Peter almost surprised when he mentioned it, “Oh yeah, Ned.” Hitching it over his shoulder he dodged an employee who nearly walked into him when the front doors opened, “Going to do some studying after.”

The ride there consisted of an excited Peter chewing Happy's ear off about the rising of his grades, chirping about the stress of moving and how it all came at the wrong time but _not_ to tell Mister Stark that, didn't want him feeling guilty or responsible for any distraction or lull in his performance. It is what it is. And yes -Happy hadn't asked- yeah it did kind of suck he wasn't allowed to venture into the city for Steve's fighting sessions anymore but the gym back at the compound is above par and definitely not a downgrade. Not at all. Just felt bad Cap had to make the journey up there every time he wasn't already staying in his quarters at the compound. Nearly bit his tongue off in the effort to keep the mention of Mr Barnes' from slipping out. 

He thanked Happy and told him he'd be ready by 9, outside Ned's. They pulled up in the remote back street and Peter tumbled out to his usual spot. He wore the original Stark suit beneath his sweats to keep up appearances and waited until he heard the tyres pull out and over the gravel. Satisfied, Peter webbed himself up to the top floor of the building and flipped over to land feet first on the roof. It'd been a while since he'd performed acrobatics like such and felt a little out of character. Dizzy, annoyingly. Still, he had a job to do. 

Suit already on, he activated _Karen_ and asked her to message Ned from his cell phone. 

_There doesn't seem to be a tracker installed on your device, Peter._

"Yeah, no I know. Mister Stark knows that he just hasn't got around to doing it yet."

There was a pause and it felt too intuitive for Peter's comfort. "H-have you text Ned?" 

_Yes, Peter. You've told Ned that you're on your way._

"Cool, thanks."

And with that, he stuffed his hoodie, his sweatpants and his shoes into the backpack and took off toward's Ned's apartment. Luckily he was more local to the City and he wouldn't be swinging around with his backpack for long; more importantly, he wouldn't be swinging those couple blocks _bare_ for too long. 

Ned let him in instantly, opening his window before he even had chance to knock. "Peter."

"Hey man, did you get my stuff?"

Ned stepped aside to reveal the change of clothes he'd left there months ago, watching Peter with removed interest as he stripped himself to his boxers from his suit. "After all this time, I still don't think I'm ever going to get used to seeing you peel the Spider-Man suit off." Peter didn't have time for one of Ned's whimsical daydreams, frowning at him as he franticlaly pulled an old tattered grey t-shirt over his head, "You're real." Peter shook his head, hopping into the baggy jeans that fit his slim hips perfectly, "...so cool."

"Ned."

"Sorry." 

"I need you to stay vigilant, please? Keep my stuff here and just- your phone," Peter gestured, shoving his own in his pocket before pulling his hoodie over his head again, "keep it on loud. Thanks again. Love you man, I gotta g-,"

"Please be safe," Ned stopped him as he strapped on his backpack, tightening it so it wouldn't go sliding around his arms mid-swing.

"He's not dangerous, Ned."

"I know, I just want you to be safe." 

He didn't know what he was touching on, didn't have the time to question it or it would cut into the two valuable hours set aside to be with the man himself. Peter just reassured him quickly, told him he's grateful for this and to expect a text sometime before 9. Swinging without his suit wasn't something he made a habit of and it sent his anxiety sky high whenever he did, which was twice. Only two times he'd had to do this but it was two times too many. Too risky. He didn't want to unpack what that meant in relation to his feelings to Bucky.

Reaching his apartment block wasn't going to be the easiest, or most graceful. He knew exactly which windows were his and knew by the blueprints he'd examined of his building prior to his first entry, they were easily accessible from the outside. He prayed one was going to be latched otherwise, he'd just have to wait outside awkwardly while Bucky unbolted and let him in. Wouldn't put it past him to let him to stick there for a few minutes and make him sweat. 

Thankfully, they were both open. Why wouldn't they be, really? His loft was high enough that there was no threat of anyone accessing it from the outside in. No one, except Spider-boys of course. 

Squeezing himself through the gap he prised open, Peter landed with an embarrassing thud. He just missed the record player and rolled over onto his front with a groan caught in his throat. " _Ah,_ " He griped, "ah, shit, ow, ow-,"

Coming to a stand was shaky, but he managed it and was fully expected to be met with a disapproving man. Yet? He pulled his mask off in one smooth swipe and sighed. 

That first breath was always nice. 

"Bucky?" That was weird. 

Calling out his name felt really out of pocket. The noise he just made guaranteed he'd have been heard; his landing wasn't that of a fairy so he wondered why he was painfully, alone. Peter checked the time on the clock: 6:49PM. "Hm."

Peeling off his hoodie, he set it on the sofa with his mask and bag. He ran his hand over the soft furnishing but retracted it almost immediately as though it provided muscle memory of what happened the last time he were there. God, Peter's tummy was doing flips. He would've missed the phone sat on the coffee table if he wasn't so hyperaware of everything he was and wasn't touching, his tummy twisting tenfold when he realised it was his old phone, on charge and _open_. 

He was full of excited nerves, the good side of anxious, very aware of his tongue but also very aware he was still, alon-

The sound of a key slotting and turning had Peter spinning, the door opening to Bucky almost dropping the bag he clutched. " _Boy-_ ,"

Peter's heart dropped when Bucky slammed the door shut, trying to backtrack on all the things he could've done wrong. He didn't say anything, stopped himself from moving a muscle while he watched the older man stride into the kitchen, then back again after a few stretched seconds. "H-hi."

"How the fuck did you get in?"

Peter opened his mouth, decided his voice wouldn't come out straight in the face of that demeaning tone and thumbed behind himself to the window. It didn't take long for Bucky to tie the loose ends together once he saw the hint of red Spider-Suit on the couch. "I see," He nodded, "the front door isn't in fashion?"

"Too many eyes, Bucky," Peter explained simply, his voice _tiny_ , "I don't know if Mister Stark has eyes on you after what happened I didn't want to risk it so I worked around it. Literally."

"Out of uniform? That's dangerous."

"No, it's smart. I'm smart." Peter felt like he had to defend himself, motioning towards the mask, "Besides I wasn't completely out of uniform nobody would see my face if they got close enough! Which they didn't, because you live a _gazillion_ floors up and I don't ever really swing that low."

Bucky conceded, "Little heads up of a Spider dropping by would've been good."

"You said I could swing by?" 

"At 7. It's currently," Bucky closed in on Peter's location and checked the phone for himself, depositing his own next to it, "17:53."

Military idiots. 

" _I text you!_ " Peter almost burst, "I swear I text you but you never replied I text you saying I was gonna be ten minutes but you didn't repl-,"

"Alright, okay Peach I believe you," Bucky raised his hands, "I've been out, don't take two phones with me. I believe you."

Now the minor shock of walking into a 5ft something short boy occupying his residence had worn off, Bucky wasn't really in the mood to jab at him any longer and was entirely too happy of his being here above all else. He hadn't been able to shift the boy's scent off him all day, the memory of small hands on his body, the taste of breathy little moans and light gasps sunken soul deep for the past few hours. The constant tease of purity would've drove a lesser man to insanity, alas. 

"C'mere," Bucky took his chin and tipped it, kissed his lips after waiting a moment for Peter to deny him. 

He led the boy through the living space and into the kitchen where he'd confirmed neither of them had eaten and therefore, pasta was to be cooked. Peter was ecstatic at the opportunity to play chef and listened to all instructions carefully. It was frightfully domestic and way too comfortable but Bucky didn't seem to have any qualms about any of it so Peter wasn't going to point it out, wasn't going to ruin the first _real_ softness he'd been allowed to see at such extent. He nearly fucked it though, several times. When Bucky would turn at the wrong time and catch him just, staring. He'd nudge him or ask him what the fuck he was looking at, Peter would shake his head and say _nothin_. He felt brave and told him to watch his language and Bucky had a hand around his throat instantly, too light to be threatening so Peter was giggling. "What was that?"

The pasta was threatening to bubble over, the steam from the thickening sauce whipping up into the ventilator, "I said-," He really couldn't stop giggling, almost hanging off the forearm that banded around him after being swivelled around so he were facing away, "watch, your mouth old man."

Bucky wasted no time in s smacking his backside. The boy shrieked, lifting to his tiptoes to escape the sting. It was playful but so, so, hot. He was innocent to the pleasure it gave Bucky to deliver such a blow, ignorant to the damage he could do if he dared to push hard enough and cross the line from playful to punishment. 

"Good job you're pretty ain't it?" Bucky's husk licked into his ear and Peter nearly fell to the floor. A kiss was pressed into his jaw and he were set free, left to fend for his own body. Offensive, actually, that he were expected to function _upright_ after that. He just about managed it though, quite proud he zoned back in time to catch Bucky's instructions for the sliced mushrooms. 

The following half hour consisted of nothing but Peter ignoring the vibrations from his phone, Bucky doing much the same. They enjoyed their pasta and Peter enjoyed far too much cheese with his to which Bucky refrained from commenting on, just pointed out the sauce around his mouth for the fourth time in a row. 

After this, Peter declared he was going to be staying for one hour and ten minutes, until- and he adopted his best _deep man voice_ to mock when announcing it'd be '20:50' hours when he'd have to leave and he wouldn't hold it against the man if he shed a tear when the time came. Bucky promised he'd keep all weeping for post-departure. 

"What- how am I supposed to know anything about your school shit?"

"You're not," Peter arranged himself so he were stretched out like a cat on Bucky's couch, legs resting across his lap with a couple pillows he'd stolen from the bedroom propped behind his head, "but I can teach you."

It boggled the man why he wasn't opposed to the idea. Bucky told him he could _reach his own cup_ when Peter asked for him to pass it, but when he saw the flailing of too short limbs reaching, fingers wiggling towards the table that was just out of reach, he sat forward on a grumble and retrieved it. Even fucking waited for the boy to finish his gulp and placed the damn thing back.

"Okay Mister Parker, educate me."

And just like that, Peter was able to hide most his blush behind the laptop screen and had his ankle that he'd complained about straining after the liberty of breaking and entering, massaged. Bucky had reminded him that it was his own reckless fault _while_ he rubbed around the moderately aching joint. Peter could've stayed right there in that moment for a long, long time. Warm, happy and safe. Completely enamoured by the overgrown softie in front of him, the mass of everything he'd been taught was wrong, everything he'd been warned against and cautioned about, protected from. All that danger and merciless brutality that was apparently rolled into one murder weapon sat with him right now, at peace, listening to him talk about _user interfaces_ and massaging his ankle. Not once pointing out he had odd socks.

Who knew such terror was capable of such tame intimacy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild dub-con. It depends on your take on it; it’s very light compared to what I usually put out. It's obvious when it's about to kick in, so skip it if you don't wish to read it and pick up on the line reading, "I know you are. All's forgiven..."
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for another update hopefully this week, making up for the lack of one in the last. Forgive me for not getting around to comments so quickly, I read them all at the most inappropriate times and end up grinning and squealing like a soft sack. Please also keep submitting your tropes and plot ideas to my tumblr. Really, love hearing it. Very nearly had Peter calling Bucky 'Papa' in this.

“Queens, it’s not up for discussion.”

Peter missed the next jab, ducked and counteracted. He dropped his defence and smiled at his victory, giggling until Cap took a hefty blow to his side which nearly knocked the kid off his feet. “ _Ow_ — fuck!”

“Rule number seventeen, don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not I was distracted by your stubbornness,” Peter was still rubbing his flank, pretty sure something may be fractured or he was just a wimp, “I just don’t see why we can’t have music.”

“This isn’t some dramatic Rocky scene, Peter, we don’t need music while we train. Now,” He tipped his chin and raised his fists back to neutral, “foll—,”

“But what if I enter a _professional_ boxing match one day?”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve dropped his fists, mumbling to himself. He was starting to understand the thin thread of patience Bucky had for him. 

“It could happen,” Peter retorted, fully defensive but not fully convinced, “I— well I’d need an entrance track you know? Something badass but not too cringe or obvious… something that suits—,”

“Queens.”

“— _something_ , that suits me well enough but still has that dark edge y’know? Something scary an—,”

Both men swung round to find Natasha lounging in the doorway with half an apple slice hanging out her mouth and embarrassingly, neither knew how long she’d been there. “The darkest edge you have are your eyebrows.” She pushed forward, chewing around the fruit in a less than graceful manner. “And you’re arguably dirty blonde in some lights.”

Whilst Peter went about touching his eyebrows Nat came up to the ring and questioned Steve about why he were here. It was Monday and training session took place Tuesdays Thursdays and Fridays, and everyone knew how strict Tony liked to keep his diary, especially evolving around the teen. Said teen still having an inward battle with himself now he’d whipped himself from the platform and plodded over to the mirror to inspect his face. He was frowning, neatening his eyebrows— 

“Webs?”

“Huh.” He looked fine. “Yes? Yeah I’m here.”

“I said, why are you guys training early morning? I thought this was a nocturnal thing, you boys enjoy being creatures of the night and what not.”

Steve offered to help him remove his hand wraps, explaining how Peter had extra curricular things after classes today so he wouldn’t have time. Time changing was never usually an issue as long as he were notified a fair few days in advance. Now he only had his own schedule to consider, it was a lot easier. 

“Extra, curricular.”

Peter avoided eye contact, “Yep.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheeks, walking her fingers across the ring rope. “Good to know you have your priorities straight tell me—,” She crossed her arms again, looking directly at Peter past Cap’s bicep, “what sort of extra curricular activities do tech nerds like you enjoy?”

His eyes widened, looking to Cap who was too busy with the next hand to really be listening at all. “Just a couple projects I’ve taken on.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” Shouldn’t have popped the ‘p’ so hard. 

“What’s it about?”

He wanted to use bad words. All the bad words and aim them at her. If Bucky heard him swear like that and at Natasha of all people he could only do well to imagine how sore he’d be by the end of it. “You know it’s sort of, not really that easy to— if you’re awake when I get back I’ll show you.” His smile was sardonic until Steve looked at him and he grinned extra wide. Too wide. So wide he felt like he had a banana wedged lengthways.

He had a look in his eye. Peter shook it. “Thanks man, uh, I have to go shower and shoot to class and stuff,” He was already backing away, “thanks, though. Thank you for a great session Steve, it was awesome.” Smiling too much, talking too much, “Awesome. Alright, I’ll go, I’ll see you later.”

Nat trailed up next to her friend and tried to angle her line of vision the same way he was, looking at the door and back a few times, “What’s up?”

“He’s not got activities after school has he.” Her cheeks were going to draw blood if she clamped any harder. She said nothing, just looked back to the direction he’d fled on a pensive sound. “I think he’s courting someone.”

“You make him sound ninety-five— _courting_ ,” She whacked his chest, “he gets a casual boyfriend and you have him officially going on dinner dates and planning their mortgages. Shut up Mister 1940.” 

"Do you agree?"

A shrug, was all he got.

He was left calling after her as she shook her head, already on her way out. “What?” He collected his own wraps, arms held out, “He seems too distracted not to. I remember what it was like I was crushi…ng hold on,” It hit him too late. Nat was already out the gym. “Did you— Nat wait, did you say- who has a boyfriend?”

*

“You know when someone says not to do something, is it a reflex to do the opposite or just y’know—,” Bucky swiped at the boy’s hand but was too slow for the lithe limb, “your inclination to be an insufferable brat.”

Honestly, it was a mix of both. A touch of his very mild ADHD, and a not so helpful helping of his ever developing mischief around Bucky. Or maybe it was helpful, because it elicited that sternness, wrapped around the softer parts that were unfolding in-between— all adding to the fuller picture Peter was being granted each time they met. He was becoming addicted to the rush. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” His voice was even lighter when elated and the man was helpless to its effect, “you know when someone says you’re a _big bad scary machine man_ , is it a reflex to act up to the character and be a dick or is it your inclination to just protect the _actual_ softie y—,” He could barely finish it without giggling, dodging another attempted seize from his counterpart, “you really are?” 

When the boy jumped on his bed, Bucky slowed. He had his phone in his hands, giddy, beaming grin that made his cheeks swell to match. “Give me, my phone.”

He assessed the boy making his mattress his very own bouncy castle and ran his tongue over his teeth. He was so juvenile, so petite and annoying it sometimes drove the man to the brink of sanity. Something he were familiar with. 

It'd been like this for the past week and a half now. Since Peter's first visit, they'd successfully managed to pull off two more. The first one came a couple days after and he utilised Tony making good on his promise to loosen the grip after school; left his phone with Ned who had class for another two hours while he snuck off to Bucky's apartment so the tracker didn't match. They'd spent the afternoon doing nothing beyond sorting through his records; old ones Peter didn't recognise and the few that he did, made it very clear and announced it very loud and proud that he was so cultured. He'd been allowed to touch his gram once, under the watchful supervision of Bucky. He had everything from classic rock to electric blues and soul. Peter thought the slower ones suited him best. 

The second time he had swung by again four days later on his, 'early evening City surveillance,' again, dropping his gear off at Ned's place before making the journey to Bucky's. He helped Bucky choose the cat bed, litter tray, a few toys and scratching posts online.

_'Posts? Plural?'_

_'Yes Bucky, kitty is not going to have one sad little tube in the corner to exercise her claws on.'_

They'd argued over organic cat food and Bucky had thrown him over his shoulder to shut him up. They made out for twenty minutes straight on the couch and the boy grew ballsy, grabbed Bucky's cock through his sweats. Soon got corrected. 

And now, they were here.

“How long has it been on there?”

“Peter.”

“Bucky.”

“I’m changing it to a brick wall.” 

Peter nearly exploded from the giggles, a forearm slapped around his middle. “ _Oh my god_ , oh, my god you’re so cute. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you _embarrassed_ in my whole life,”

“Yes well, considering you’re what, eleven? That’s not saying much, now give me—,” He stepped forward, right up to the foot of his bed, palm upwards, “my phone.” 

“Why didn’t you… put the other one on?”

Bucky wrapped two hands around Peter’s skinny ankles, thumbs rubbing over the little emblem on his socks. The lean muscle in his bare legs tensed from the contact, the slight catch in his breath, the momentary squeak in pitch, the swallow— no details going unnoticed by the trained eye of an assassin. “Which one’s that Peach?”

The phone lit up in his hand, the picture of his own face just peeking above the covers, hair askew, illuminating the screen. He smiled again, warmth bubbling in his sternum until Bucky’s hands moved again. Higher. He knew he’d be patient for only so long. “Uh, the one with,” Fuck his hands felt huge on his thighs, “— s’laid down.” 

“You’re laid down on that one.”

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you,” The defeat in his voice was a symphony to the elder’s ears. 

“You were a big enough boy to take it,” Bucky spread his palms wide behind his thighs, snapped his knees forward at a sickening pace so he fell flat on the mattress, “you can be a big boy and say it out loud to me now.”

Despite this being deja vu, Peter was focused on his words. Nodding softly without knowing he were moving his head at all. “I am.”

Bucky wanted to destroy him.

He folded forward and kissed his nose, dwarfing the boy with his formidable size. 

“M—,” Peter gasped, mouth open when Bucky nipped his most sensitive— and Bucky’s unfortunate favourite, spot, along the side of his neck, “Th-the one of my full body.” Not enough, Bucky nosed his jawline, nudged it to give him more access, “my _tummy_ , Bucky, I showed you my tumm— o- _h_ —,”

Bucky ran a metal palm up the inside of his hoodie, bringing it all the way up to his neckline so it were gathered there, revealing the long line of his slight build to the cool air of the bedroom. “This tummy?”

He was rewarded with the regal view of Bucky dipping down to press kisses all over that perfect tummy. The muscles in his back, taught, his shoulders a foundation strong enough to take Peter’s weight a hundred times over as he performed such a delicate ritual along his abdomen. His stubble was freshly shaven but still rough against the contrast of the hairless skin he was worshipping. 

A soft sound, missable to anyone else but the Soldier’s ears stuttered, as full lips suckled around a nipple. 

_Sensitive_. 

Peter almost caved away from the sensation, then back towards it. 

_So_ , _fucking sensitive_.

Couldn’t decide if he wanted more or less. He wasn’t going to get the option as Bucky pulled his torso closer, secured it with a strength ten times his own and flicked his tongue over the baby pink nub. Made quick work of repeating the same to the other in favour of the reaction it caused from his boy; knew he’d have to get used to an overload of input and discomfort if he were going to lay full claim. And there was nothing haunting his daydreams more than marking his territory.

Suitably, the man was almost feral when he pulled back from his treat and licked his lips before smacking them into Peter’s, muffling a beautiful little surprised sound.

Peter was practically putty in the literal palm of his hands. “Thanks baby.”

 _Baby_. 

Peter’s mind was doing a hundred calculations. He’d only called him baby when they were, doing stuff. Peach was his name, Peach, was _his_ identity within their bubble. It was intimate and soft for a man so callous and Peter never wanted it to stop. But 'baby' was universal. That, felt like a declaration of something big and he wanted to follow it up. 

Was he brave enough right now though? No. 

“F-for wha— _hey_!,” Pending question answered when Bucky flipped his phone in one hand and brandished it, “Don’t change the picture.” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky stood back from between his legs before his cock got any keen ideas, “there’s a backlog of sunsets on the Hudson River I could replace it wi— _shit_ ,” Bucky was now supporting an extra 120 something pounds on his back as the boy leapt and secured his position around the mountain of a bully. 

He smiled, hooking his hands around the crooks of his knees to piggyback his new addition through the lounge. “Don’t you dare.” A kitten lick to his ear had his grin spreading wider, teeth grazing at the lobe which was probably supposed to be a mild threat. He listened to the sweet mumbles about him being the most interesting thing he should have on his camera roll and Bucky sent the boy’s stomach flying when he bent over to close a cabinet. 

“I don’t know about interesting,” Bucky teased, and Peter was about to whine about it until he got a kiss to the arm hooked around his front, “but you’re the prettiest.”

Peter had already melted into the mattress, but now he were a boneless floppy nothing. He wanted to kiss him. Caught off guard from those nuclear comments that leave him scattered. He knows it’ll knock the wind from his lungs, felt like someone scooped his heart right out his chest every damn time. “Peter.”

His full name floated into his wishy washy brain like a bag of feathers, “Mh…” He was so happily squished against his —lover’s?— nape he could barely bring enough energy to the surface. 

“Your Professor, what’s he like?”

Utterly confused, Peter blinked tiring eyes open. “Mister Beck?” 

“Aye.”

Peter pulled away and hopped down when encouraged, feet barely making a sound on the tiled floor. “He’s… alright? I guess.” Hadn’t really thought about that too much. Didn’t know why Bucky was thinking about it at all. “Why?”

Stirring the pot of creamy tomato goodness it appeared the elder had suffered a stroke of amnesia and forgotten he even asked, plucking a wooden spoon from the utensils for a taste test. A few seconds dragged out and Peter’s tummy grumbled. “I just—,” Bucky stopped and looked to the sound sounding so ghastly alien coming from such a tiny space, “the fuck was that?”

Peter giggled, covering his stomach. “Might be allergic to your kisses.”

Right there, in that moment, Bucky would’ve vowed his life to protect the peculiarly petite human. All that’s good and pure in the world had been condensed and shoved into an irritating, endearing little bundle of energy dispelled and shoved into Bucky’s life despite his efforts to ignore it and he was becoming disgustingly besotted. “Might just be.” He had to look away for his clarity. “Might just be.”

They’d eaten soup and fresh bread soon as he arrived over an hour ago, how his belly was already grumbling for more was beyond him. “Your teacher’s too fucking familiar.”

“No, he’s just friendly.”

“A dog’s friendly, a psychopath is familiar.”

“He’s not _that bad_ , oh my god. A little hands-on and-,”

“Has he touched you?”

“No, God no I didn't mean- holy f—,” Peter rolled his lips. “...flip.”

“His hands get too close. The way he looks at you, I don’t like it. I’ve seen men who look at people like they’re something to eat before and it never ends well.” Peter refrained from inserting any comments about the parallels in the ways he looks at _him_. “Has he ever offered to privately tutor you?”

“Nope,” Peter shook his head, nibbled on one of his fingers absentmindedly, “never.” 

The intuition riddling Bucky’s bones wasn’t brought any rest over his denials. “Still don’t fucking trust him.” 

“No, James Buchanan Barnes has trust issues?” Peter slinked up to the man, ignoring the fact he’d detached himself moments before for practical reasons. 

Barnes raised his arms to allow room for the head of unruly curls to wiggle its way in front of him and nestle into his torso, arms coming to join around his stocky middle with an exaggerated sigh. The man had grown visibly taught and still held the ladle, dripping sauce into the pan. “What did you just say?”

His first attempt was muffled and he had to pull away from the warm confines of his safe place to speak properly, _clearly_. “I said— James Buchanan B—,” He was stopped.

“Say it again.”

Brown eyes blinked once. “James... B—,”

“And again.”

A slow smile, “James.”

Bucky dropped the ladle gently into the pan, closing his eyes. He pointed to his ear, voice luxuriously low it made the finer hairs on Peter’s body stand to attention. “One more time for me.”

Slender arms tightened around his centre and he felt the boy go up on his tiptoes, breath warm and wet against his neck, “ _James_ —ah!” Breaking off into giggles as the man growled and practically snarled into his throat, Peter knocked the pan but it were saved by a metal limb. 

“Reckon we need a safe word. You say my name like that,” He’d almost forgotten that was his given name, “I may have to do unspeakable things to you young man.”

“A _safe_ word?” Peter’s nose scrunched in the most delightful way, mouthing the word over again. “Like something that keeps us safe?”

Holy fuck. _Holy, mother of fuck_. He had no clue what he were referring to and it did terrible, dreadful, undeniably wretched things to Bucky’s imagination. Nothing about this boy buffered the innocence surrounding him and where he should feel like he were tarnishing something pure and back off, Bucky only felt more compelled to lay his claim and guide him through the darkest corners of his mind. 

Bucky licked his lips and ducked, kissed his cheek, “Conversation for another time, Peach.”

If it weren’t for the fatigue slowly smoothing over his defence mechanism again, Peter would protest wildly. He would. Profusely! And yet, he settled for a mediocre half pout and gazed up at the man with his chin resting in the dip between his pectorals. 

“Am I allowed to tend to my leftovers?”

“D’you realise how warm you are?”

“I do, do you realise how cold you _always_ are?” Bucky pinched his side lightly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, reaching at a —barely— odd angle to stir the tomato soup. The daring boy responded by silently dipping his fingers underneath Bucky’s hem and spreading cool palms across the lower half of his spine making the man hiss.

Sadly, as usual, their time was always limited. And it came around faster every time.

“B— oh!” Bucky's phone buzzed and trilled on the side, both looking towards it and just, staring for a moment. 

A light pat to his bum and the boy smushed his face back into that perfect chest, felt the grumble in it when the liquid smooth voice above spoke. “Time’s up Peach.” 

  


*

  
Of course she wanted something. No one brought along a six pack of donuts and his favourite candy that you could only get at Rick’s Candy Store all the way in the city for the sheer hell of it. He was suspicious from the start— although admittedly he were initially elated when he smelt the sugar and cherry liquorice through the paper bag and made grabby hands. 

“For me?”

Nat smiled, throwing him the bag of goodies, “For you.” She placed the pack of donuts on the desk, hesitating, “If you eat these all in one go and get a sugar rush like last time and Tony catches on? I had nothing to do with it.” 

“He’s going to know it was you.”

“I _said_ —,”

“You’re the only one buys those for me!” 

Nat sighed dramatically, “Well, guess I’ll just eat them all myself.”

Peter nearly dropped his candy string, “ _No_! No, no need I vow to eat them at a reasonable pace.”

He smiled, chewing around a modest mouthful, nodding, “Have my word.” 

“Partners in crime.” She smiled, sitting next to him on the bed. 

Now Peter really knew something was up. Her whole body language was off, she never stayed around too long in his room without intention, didn’t hover in his personal space and definitely didn’t do drive-by candy drop-offs without a favour begging. He squinted, slowly raising the string to his mouth again, “What’s… up?”

“Pete,” She tucked her hair behind her ear, both ears now, she was fiddling— “Pete we gotta talk about it sooner or later.”

 _Oh God_. 

“About what?” Playing dumb only served the precise purpose of making him look exactly that.

“You know what about.”

She wasn’t pushy, he knew she felt it her duty to make sure things were kosher, that he was alright and feeling safe— all the things big sisters would probably do. But it was so fresh. Everything was so new and he barely understood what they had going on, had only just started to believe it were real and not a really cruel dream. He didn’t know how to talk about it because he didn’t know what _it_ was. He didn’t have any way to respond to any of the questions she was definitely going to ask because he didn’t know the answers. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so easily lured by candy. 

“Right,” He nodded, “uh, if you’re going to ask about sex and stuff—,”

“ _He’s done what_?!” 

Peter _did_ drop the packet then, jumping back, “Wh— huh? What? He hasn’t done an—,”

“Has he already—,”

“ _No_!” Shit. "No."

“Pete he told me he hadn’t don—,”

“—no, no, no—,”

“—I told him, I told him to take it easy with you—,”

“ _Nonono_ — Nat.”

“—I said if you take advantage of his crush—,”

“Nat please!”

“—Peter I will rip his balls from his body.”

“ _I’mavirgin_.” 

The sudden silence, while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t exactly easy. He blinked a few times, held his breath as realisation dawned over her majestic features. “Oh.” Yes, oh. “So you haven’t?”

“Not at all.” Well. “No sex.”

“He hasn’t touched you?” 

The eyebrow raise spoke volumes and it was now Nat’s time to squint, deducing whether the smudges of pink on his neck were from embarrassment or deception. “Webs.”

She wouldn’t be fast enough to reach his balls anyway. “There’s b-been, stuff? I—,” He shrugged, certain the room was closing in on him, “not heavy st—uff,” Cleared his throat, “y’know just kissing and, stuff.”

He would take another lecture from Tony over the silence of Romanoff. 

“Stuff.”

He confirmed, bending over to reach for the packet, nearly falling off the bed entirely. 

“You know what, you’re not stupid. I trust him with my life, I know he wouldn’t hurt you I just, want to make sure you’re making wise choices for yourself in that area because I know what it’s like when you get whisked away in the moment by a handsome face and charming wit.” She thought on it, “Actually, charming may be a little generous for Barnes.”

Peter’s giggles loosened the mood by the notch it needed to be, he wasn’t comfortable discussing the topic at all but her heart was in the right place and he knew it was coming sooner or later. Just, hoped it’d been later. “He’s very gentle.”

“Now I know you’re bullshitting.” She scoffed, pointed a the donuts, “I can revoke my gift you know.”

This opener— as unfortunately awkward and unintentionally crooked as it ended up, was the tip of the iceberg. She had been rehearsing all morning about what she wanted to talk about, rephrasing, organising what’s patronising or too intrusive as she trotted around the City for his ‘softening the blow’, presents. But the knock at the door told her it’d have to be pinned for another day. 

Sam. 

“ _Sam_!” Peter exclaimed, “Hey man!”

“My man, what’s up,” He saluted the boy, “Little early but we’re here so whenever you’re ready.”

“How did you know I was in here?” 

Sam whipped back round the doorframe, “That cute chick with an accent.”

Right. Nat rolled her eyes when he left again, tipping her head, “That’s uh— I was going to get to this part when we’d finished talking about, well the rest, but,” She was already walking out the room as if she knew he’d have some sort of nervous protest to put up, “obviously it’s not going to be the same but I thought it’d be nice for you two to have a change of scenery. Plus, I kind of like them and don’t mind the company.”

“What?” He loved Sam, but the _them_ part confused him, “I—,”

“Just,” She raised a hand, “come to the lounge in five.”

And with that, she winked and left in Sam’s tracks. And as the door clicked, so did the mystery. She’d invited Bucky and Sam round. She had to have. Peter shot up and over to his bathroom, faffing with his hair and changing into something a touch more presentable than threadbare shorts and a tee.

When he eventually floats through to join them in the lounge, all are conversing at leisure. Everyone, but Peter and Bucky. Instinct had evolved from making himself as small as possible around the man to wanting at least one part of him touching him; walking around and in front of him felt showy and strained. All he wanted was to make himself a home in that lap. And boy, it was awkward at first. Both parties had to push down on any interactions that were beginning to feel natural to them and replace first-responses with ones that would come off more casual, less familiar. More platonic, less flirty.

It was going well up until Bucky showing the tiniest bit of softness towards the boy and Sam jumps on it. Always primed to pick apart any soft spots and he whips up a comment on how that’s a massive switch up from the beginning. 

“He said what?” Peter asked.

“Nothing.” Barnes answered before the vet could. Didn't stop him though.

“No, you remember right?”

“Nope.” Bucky shook his head, glared once at the man until Peter looked back, “You’re mist—,”

“Nahhh we were at Joe’s remember? We were talking about the kid coming on board officially, all that. The move to the compound and you were just,” Sam made finger guns, _pew-pew, pew-pew_ , “firing shots.”

Peter, to his suspicious horror, had never looked more satisfied. Outside the bedroom. The man knew better than to deem it innocent, tensed his jaw as Sam was incapable of taking a hint and carried on, “…said we were gonna give him colouring books and stuff.”

“Oh really?” Peter shuffled onto his knees, “Because I’m young?”

“I mean,” Sam meant no harm, clearly. But it was _painful_ how oblivious he was. Painful, the amount of damage one can do when ignorant. “It’s no secret he didn’t— doesn’t? Approve of your age and being,” Even the vague hand gesture he made irritated Bucky, “exposed to this world.”

Peter pouted, exaggerated and pointedly at Mr Wilson. “Men really do get grumpy when they pass a certain age, huh.” 

Enough.

"Peter."

"James?"

Heat scorched the nape of his neck. 

Bucky felt the direction this was headed and wasn’t a fan of the outcome, knew if he let the rein loose Peter would run with it and that sort of power play wasn’t on the cards here, around these people. Bucky coughed, readjusted in his seat and made a bit of an intentional thud with his boots when he spread his legs and lounged back into the cushion, a hand resting on the expanse of a strong thigh. He levelled the boy with a look after he flinched, everything subtle enough to swim by and over Sam’s head.

Natasha however, was loving every second. 

“You good?” Sam asked, not waiting for the answer, “Are we getting popcorn? What’s a man gotta do to get some snacks, what kind of movie night is this?”

Bucky sighed, “This isn’t a movie night—,”

“Oh didn’t I tell you?” The apples of Natasha’s cheeks were vibrant, her sultry voice so full of feigned innocence Bucky’d already put two and two together before she finished her sentence, “Yeah I wanted a movie night with my three favourite idiots. Would’ve been five but, Bruce and Rogers are out of town, so.” 

Great. 

“Great.” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Damn right it’s great, you know what’d be greater?” Sam pointed, genuinely waited for a response. 

“Popcorn?” Peter bounced up to a stand, slapped his hand into Sam’s open palm in a high-five, “I got you.”

“ _Popcorn_.” Sam repeated, making a fist. “That’s my boy, least one of y’all are hospitable and know how to treat a guest of honour.”

Natasha and Bucky were near enough in sync when they told him to the shut the fuck up. 

It took about fifteen combined minutes of Bucky struggling to maintain a polite tongue when Sam probed him about the kitten, Natasha defending his decision to become a kitty-Dad and him stomping down on the barbaric names the pair of them were spitting. A distant thought ebbed towards him and he lifted his chin to it as they spoke over him, he squinted, amused by it, wondering if they were put into the ice whether it would preserve the net worth of stupid these two would have going in. 

Only when the bell of the microwave rung in the background did Bucky’s tension slip back into his posture, remembering exactly where he was. 

“If you’re going to be a snob about the pre-packaged stuff, well,” Peter handed Sam a large bowl full of warm, buttered popcorn, “well stuff you man.”

“Nah it’s all good,” It was accepted with grace and the excitement of a person years his junior, making a little sing song as he cupped the bowl, “this is real good, thank you little man.” 

Trotting back into the kitchen and back he leaned over the couch to hand Nat her bowl of toffee flavoured popcorn and a drink, and Bucky— he was going to get whatever Peter decided. Which, ended up being ‘sugar n’ sweet’ still piping hot from being the last bag popped. Coming to the main space of the lounge area was when Bucky, or any of them, got an eyeful of the boy. And all three, had very different reactions. 

It appeared he’d made a detour to his bedroom for a quick wardrobe change and opted for a marginally oversized t-shirt that was a little old looking, well loved. A hoodie on top, unzipped, also oversized. It was a wonder whether he preferred the fit to be roomy or if he genuinely didn’t know how to shop— and a pair of thin, tiny, cotton, baby-blue shorts. Tiny. Cotton. Soft. Enough to cover his modesty entirely no matter his position but short enough that it made one wonder _how_. 

Natasha’s munching came to a near stop once she clasped eyes on the bare legs, keeping her mouth firmly shut and her eyes— firmly, on Bucky. Sam, though. Sam was fussing about the boy still standing upright and blocking the screen, “Son sit down, move your fat head—,” He was entirely unbothered, unaware and unaffected by any of the bare skin before him. Understandably, but it added some comedic relief to the boiling ball of fury in the remaining man’s gut. 

Bucky was frozen, bowl of warm corn balanced on his knee. He watched the boy tongue tussle with his friend briefly before arranging a couple cushions on the ground so he could lay out, belly down, on the floor, facing the screen. Right in front of Nat and himself. 

He’d seen those shorts before. Remembers making a comment, about said shorts before. Times have changed rapidly since and Peter was no longer so afraid.

Sam was rattling on about being the one to choose the movie as he were _the guest_. Nat was the only one responding, Bucky’s full focus on focusing on anything but the boy in his line of sight. He was toying with him and it was dangerous, knew exactly what he were doing and there was fuck all the man could do about it. 

When the title was selected he didn’t know. But there was a silence in his ears, a ringing and a dryness in his throat. 

“How’s it taste?” Peter glanced over his shoulder. Chewing on some red candy that was half hanging out his mouth, bringing his legs up behind him to sway his bare feet for a bit. He was speaking to him.

Bucky scrubbed his stubble, “What?”

“The popcorn, dummy.”

Natasha nearly choked on her next mouthful. Good.

“I haven’t—,” There wasn’t a chance in Hell of clearing that rasp from his voice, “haven’t tried it yet.”

Peter tore off the liquorice with his teeth, regarded him with lidded eyes for moment. “Hm,” His attention was turned back to the big screen, “might be a little too sweet for you.”

It wasn’t like he were too much of a macho mess to not enjoy movie nights, cozy occasions beneath a blanket and soft surroundings, the comfort that came with having good food, good company and a half decent movie to escape with. Bucky quite enjoyed the smaller details like that, revelled in home comforts alike but the only problem was this wasn’t his home, this was Stark’s territory. And he came here under the pretence of seeing his friend whom had made it clear she wasn’t going to be bullied into banning Barnes from the property because he had a booboo with him. He came here thinking they would have an hour or two together, doing— not much, maybe work out, watch the tv with a couple beers (despite them having zero affect on the soldier) and that would be that. But this, this was turning into the longest two hours he’d ever experienced, conscious and sober. 

Nat clearly mapped the entire thing out; inviting him here under the innocent intention, making sure he had a _buddy pal friend_ Sam there as a buffer to make it more difficult to refuse when the teenager suddenly appeared. She obviously wanted them to be in the same room together, share some sweet time they otherwise would struggle to get but, of course, Mr Wilson had to trigger the memory of _pre-approval of Spider-Boy_ and triggered the part of Peter he would normally deal with privately. 

And Peter played up to the opportunity. 

There wasn’t ten minutes that passed where he wouldn’t shuffle a joint, or move in some way that had blue eyes darting to catch it, or straining, to not. He was serving Bucky with his own private show and tormented him with the delectable view. 

One moment he was stretching out so much the shorts rode up with the friction of the carpet, the very beginning of the curve to his ass on display before he corrected it. Bent his knees and swayed his bare feet every so often which raised his hips, gave a little gap to the cotton hem to help Bucky scope out the lack of underwear. If the lights were up a notch, he’d have caught the faintest glimpse of his hairless taint when he twisted a little too far.

The glimmer from the screen illuminated the baby hairs along the backs of Peter’s milky thighs, highlighted the dips and curves of his lean legs as they shifted or just lay out flat behind him. His toes would wiggle every so often too, which by all accounts would’ve been adorable. But not right now.

No, not when he was being a deceitful brat tuned into the highest frequency of Bucky’s torture. He knew very well stone cold eyes would be set on him, all of him, knew very well the breathless little sounds he made when he stretched would pulse to his cock. It was luck Bucky could use the excuse of having a cushion over his lap to aid cradling the bowl of popcorn— despite having barely touched the sweet shit at all. 

That simmering heat in his gut boiled over when Peter lifted his lower half to wedge one of the larger cushions beneath himself, one half between his thighs the other under his chest, leaving his ass raised and his back dipped. 

It was here, that Bucky made the decision he’d been too soft. He’d given the kid far too much leeway with ode to his virginity and all round wide-eyed innocence for the fear of scaring him into a place he didn’t want. Clearly, he needed a reference point to help him remember who’s boss. 

The movie concluded and Sam was in uproar once the credits rolled. “Best. Movie. _Ever_. Made.” No one knew who he was shouting at, “Tell me I’m wrong, _tell_ me, I am wrong. Do it.”

“You say the same thing after any movie with Denzel or Tom Hanks in it,” Natasha threw the last couple of kernels at his face. 

Peter rolled onto his back with a groan, “It was a little violent Sam—,”

“Sorry it wasn’t PG for your tender eyes, but Denzel will _not_ be softened.”

Bucky denied comment. He’d seen it already two times before with Cap, always had the man in applaud. He was lacking any enthusiasm towards anything that drew attention to himself at the moment, so remained a background object as the debate grew to a close and bodies dispersed. Or at least, Peter’s. The boy slapped the cushions back onto the adjacent couch and went up, up, up on his tiptoes to stretch out the aches of being on a hard carpet floor. Bones cracked, his thighs shook a little from the strain as he held it, his stomach making a cameo appearance as he reached high to the sky and then it was over. He made no eye contact with the man as he declared he were going to take a shower and get ready for bed. 

“About time too it’s 10, you were due to be all tucked in an hour ago c’mere you lit—,” Sam went to smush his cheeks but the boy ducked out the way, deflecting his playful advances. He stuck a middle finger back up at him when he was told to 'brush his teethies' and slipped away in silence. 

For the first time in what felt like two thousand hours, Nat and Buck were alone. He was shaking out the weaved grey cushion he’d been compressing on his crotch all evening when he realised it was too quiet to not be suspicious. “What?”

Nat looked through to the open kitchen before speaking, “I thought it would be nice for y—,”

“It was a fucking treat.”

She had to laugh. Bucky’s clear discomfort when he palmed his crotch openly in front of her only made it worse. 

“I didn’t think he was going to...” She rolled her wrist, hoping it would finish the sentence sufficiently.

“Hey Mister man whose balls I want on my mantelpiece, why’re you walking around my compound with a semi?” Obviously, his Stark impression was spot on because Nat insisted he quieten down, slapping his arm, “Oh, you know, just thinking about turning your little princess black and blue from the inside out, you know how it is.”

Sam made a colossal bang from behind the stained glass.

“I really, hope he doesn’t.” 

It took Bucky a moment, distracted by whatever mild disaster the liability had caused, but the penny dropped and he grimaced, making a point of handing her the bowl of popcorn that had barely been dented. Nat hushed her voice, “I haven’t had chance to speak to him yet, not properly anyway— you and I, we also need to check in on this Buck.” She looked at the bowl in her hands having accepted it on autopilot, confused, “Uh, wait where are you going?”

“To check-in.”

She frowned, watching him walk straight up and through the kitchen, ignoring a curse from Sam as he simply bypassed and headed straight out the other end. 

His mind was sharp, his memory worked on a knife’s edge precision, his nose picked up a scent like a wolf would its prey, his eyes set on their target with unwavering distinction. Although having only set foot in the domestic quarters a handful of times before, tracing his steps to individual’s lodgings wasn’t difficult. He didn’t need to think twice about the turns to take, didn’t hesitate as he walked straight towards the end of a corridor, the contrasting recollection of his last venture here an almost comical serve.

He didn’t knock. 

The first thing that hit was the overwhelming scent. It was always that something sweet that must drip from the boy’s pores. And it pissed Bucky off how no one else seemed to notice. Like when he’s next to him, passes him, loiters for a while and leaves that _scent_ in his wake and no one bats an eyelid and it leaves Bucky to just sit and stew in the daze that stupefies him into a caveman alpha male. 

He made sure to slam the door shut and click the lock. There was a cold light bleeding from the ensuite, the sound of running water and Peter’s voice took flight, “H-hello?” Muffled first, clearer now the door was open, “hello— _Bucky_? Buck—,”

Bucky met him like a wall of muscle, shoving him back into the bathroom. 

“Bucky—,” Peter tried again, clutching the lip of the counter, “you can’t be in here,” The alarm in his face was pretty, “if Mister—,”

“This won’t take long.”

And just like that, the fear of God sunk into Peter’s bones. He shrunk back, bum bumping the counter as he tried to back away as far as possible, unable to meet those eyes as the air between them grew thin. 

“Do you think you’re clever?”

Peter shook his head, still looking to the floor. He looked to Bucky’s jeans, his boots scuffing closer. 

“I asked you a question.” 

There was no way he could meet the voice, couldn’t raise his chin enough to meet the mouth it came from never mind use his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, a paralysis caused from the catatonic mix of being too embarrassed, too turned on and genuinely, afraid. He shouldn't be in here. His head remained bowed on the calmly expanding muscles in the torso before him. 

A large palm swiftly smacked his face, enough to rip him from his gaze. Peter covered it with his own and momentarily looked up, caught between pure shock and the instinct to fight back. It sent a chill down the small boy's spine when he practically read his mind and leered, "Try it." 

He clipped his face again, getting a quiet sob from the boy and a shove to his chest, "Stop-,"

"Answer me." Bucky wasn't fucking moving.

"Stop it." 

It were in his best interest to raise his gaze and keep it there but instead he curled his fingertips around the counter's lip for one last anchor and tried to calm his breathing. Attempting to evade was a futile decision, the man was imposing, stronger, smarter, ready for whatever move he’d make and had an arm round his waist within seconds, twisting and slamming the boy face down on the cold marble. 

“See you misplaced your manners boy.”

“— get _off_ ,” He fought against it, bent his arms to push back but Bucky’d heard enough of the squeak, "st-," Securing a hand around the back of his neck to keep him down. 

“You’re lucky we’re under Stark’s roof or your housemates would be getting an earful.” 

Cold and warmth washed down Peter’s body, hairs raising to combat the mixed sensations of metal and flesh, bulk and warmth that meant no harm. Not really. He was safe. He was _safe_. 

_Bucky’d never—_

Peter tried to push back again but the force he was rivalled with began to hurt and when the band of his shorts was ripped halfway down his thighs he froze, noting the increased pressure from the fingertips around his throat. His hole clenched from the exposure and he'd never know how lucky he were to be ignorant to Bucky's internal monologue in that moment. Brown eyes stayed wide staring at the drip-drip-drip from the faucet. 

“ _I didn’t mean to._ ”

“Mean to what?”

Metal was clashing with metal, clanging, something moving behind him that Peter couldn’t properly identify. Something was being pulled now, fast. Metal again and the smaller flinched beneath his restraint, “Sh-show off, I didn’t mean it, Bucky I didn’t mean it— I didn’t—,"

"Didn't mean it?"

"N-no, no I wasn’t thinking—,” He broke off on another whimper when his chattering brought no mercy and his thigh was kicked out to widen the stance, “p- _please no_ —,”

Something firm, cold, was travelling along the centre column of his spine and it dawned down on him when he heard the metal clatter. Bucky’s belt. It trailed low on his back, traced over his now exposed opening, already tightening again with anticipation when it dragged a little over his taint and paused there. Peter swallowed and he wondered if Bucky felt it. 

“You think it’s clever to try show me up in public?”

Peter whined, “Nuh—,” Couldn’t even shake his head, “no, no it’s not—,”

Bucky hummed.

Peter’s sweaty palms slipped on the marble, “ _Sir_ , no it’s not Sir.”

The buttery leather of the belt didn’t feel so kind like this, a hovering threat where he were most sensitive. He bit his tongue to keep from begging, unsure how long he were going to be able to hold out for. “Good.” He closed his eyes at the sound of that timbre, "Because no boy of mine would enjoy teasing me and think he'd get away with it. You don't like showing me up, do you?"

Peter's nostrils were infiltrated by a mix of soap and Bucky's fancy French cologne. A high pitched noise neither recognised peeped out when the belt tapped his flushed taint. 

The steam from the empty shower was rising, making everything too hot and too heady. He whined and shuffled in his grip to try and look back, but the belt tapped on his taint again and he yelped. "My good boy wouldn't like pissing me off."

"Mrgh-," Peter swallowed and it hurt, his hips bruising from being forced into the blunt edge. 

"Would he?"

The panel of leather was pulled back up over one of the mounds of his behind, smooth and mouthwateringly unscathed. It was so slow, could've been mistaken as tender, a breather, that the snap of his wrist came quite unexpectedly and Peter nearly choked from the force behind the blow. "No S-,"

The spiteful sting was replaced by another, the cracking sound echoing around the small room. 

" _No_ Sir, please," He tried again, "Your good b-boy, only, only your good boy-,"

"Not gonna pull that stunt again are you?"

The leather teased along his crack, smacking his taint again for good measure, unwilling to let the boy get a word out without hiccuping on the pain, "Not going to try embarrass me and get my cock hard like that again?" A deafening clap landed atop the plump skin across both cheeks, "Because next time I won't be so generous, you understand?" Then another, "Next time, you'll get what you want," The sound of battered skin almost wet, "it won't matter where we are-," And again, "-or who will hear." 

Peter could do nothing but accept the saltiness of his tears as they rolled into his mouth, felt one run over the bridge of his nose. 

He tried to plead but the final whip drew the worst sound from the poor boy, desperate and sticky as saliva pooled underneath his tongue, mouth hung wide open on a moan he were trying to chase. Overworked. It made his thighs tremble, unable to make sense of the pleasure that was beginning to settle like patchwork after such excruciating pain. 

Bucky's hand left his nape and for the smallest moment, Peter took a clear breath, relief flooding his system only to be seized underneath his jaw and _lifted,_ forced to look at his reflection and the state of his face. It was blotched pink and tear stained. He didn't recognise the glazed-eyed boy staring back and he screwed them shut from the humiliation, but the daunting threat of Bucky's clothed cock pressing against his sore taint had them popping back open.

"There's my boy."

"Y-,"

"Look at you. This is the easiest it's going to get." Bucky was staring at him through the mirror, dark and terrorising from the low lit angle. He kissed his ear. "What're you gonna be?"

The boy swallowed and it felt like pins. "Y-your good b..." 

"Again." Bucky's fingers were thick, callous, working his jaw tight so he couldn't look away. 

Peter whimpered. "Your- good boy, _yours_. Y-yours, m'sorry Sir," A tear escaped and Bucky caught it, kissed it away, " _I'm so sorry_ ," Caught the next one and cooed him before he began full on sobbing. 

"I know you are, all's forgiven." He kissed him again, laying the belt on the side and loosened his hold altogether, "You hear me Baby? All's forgiven now." He helped him bend his torso back up the right way and turned him, careful where he laid his palms on bruised hips and lacerated skin. "Kiss."

Peter sniffled and was tip-toeing, so eager but missed through bleary eyes and caught his chin. He looked devastated with himself but Bucky allowed it, kissed him instead with a dip in his head to ease the strain.

It took a few minutes for Peter to regain sense of his own body enough for Bucky to be confident he wouldn't slip in the shower, so they stayed like that for as long as they could, Bucky pressing reassuring, healing kisses and compliments into his Baby's temples. It took longer for Peter to come to terms with Bucky needing to leave, so he didn't. Couldn't. The logical head told him to make up for it at a later date but the state of him right now told him with loud red warning lights he needed him to stay put a little while longer, so he did. 

He couldn't walk out of there with wet hair smelling of Peter's citrus body wash but he could stay while he hissed underneath the spray and did the best job he could with freshly punished skin. He could be there with a soft towel to wrap him up and pat him down, catch him when his legs decided to not work so well. He could help him step into a fresh pair of loose briefs after planting a baby-soft kiss to his bottom, and carry him to bed after he brushed his teeth. He could lay him down between the cotton sheets and tell him to be quiet, to hush now and tell him he knows it hurts, he knows it stings Peach but lessons have to be learnt. Peter accepted that and let him kiss him again for the hundredth time. He could kiss the bruising on his neck, he could lay next to him and trace the freckles on his face while he tried to sleep. He could let the boy grip two of his fingers because he needed the reassurance he was still there. He could stay for so long until Peter's eyelashes flickered from welcoming the early drifts of slumber and his small fingers loosened around his own and he were able to slowly, carefully, slip off the bed. He could kiss him goodnight and whisper a secret, allowing himself to be this version openly, freely, for the first time in a long time. 

  


*

"I'm telling you to listen to me."

"And I'm telling you," Bucky slammed the car door shut, "no."

The heavy sigh from the other end of the line wasn't a resigning one. "What are you hoping to prove from doing this, tell me that."

Squinting up at the historic build, Bucky lingered with his keys for a moment, the clouds passing over the apex of the roof at considerable speed due to the high winds. "That I'm wrong." He pushed forward, spat his gum into the trash on the way to the entrance. Getting through the back entrance was always easy when it were planned and authorised by Beck. This time round he has no clearance, so walking in in plain sight through the front was the only option. “…What was that?"

"You’re wrong, Buck. You are dead wrong and doing this is not only going to put bad stead for Peter, but it won’t look good to Tony.”

 _Fuck Tony._ "And if I'm right?"

"Buck."

"If I'm right, then Tony will surely be knighting me as his pup's Guardian Angel— shit," He beeped his car, locking it and continued to the front of the building. "Besides, what do you think I'm going to do? Go in all guns blazing?"

Steve groaned, "That's exactly—,”

"I left my M249 at home. Just me and my disarming charm."

Steve cursed at him and it made him smirk. He did it again, practically fizzing down the line as he rounded the front steps towards the grand pillars and still, he smirked. Maybe he should've opted for some shades to avoid being so readily recognised, heads already turning at break neck speed to catch his ascent. 

To his misery, he had to bring a premature end to Steve's earache, “—yeah, I hear ya. Maybe have more faith in me. I gotta go."

" _Bucky_ —,”

The line went dead and he pushed his hair back by habit, meeting the eye of a couple relentless stares making them avert immediately like their heads were joined to the walls by a hook. The next objective was front desk security; the establishment had strict measures in place (as it should) to prevent any and all unauthorised personnel due to the sensitivity of operations and technology behind closed doors. Can’t let any old riffraff strut through those doors. 

As he'd frequented appearance so often here, the lady flapped a little upon his arrival and when cross-referencing the appointments schedules came back negative, he insisted she'd fucked up the dates. 

“Third time you people have done this.” Bucky sighed, blue eyes twinkling at her shrinking behind the counter, “Where does it say he’s supposed to be right now? Because it should be in his fucking office.”

She stuttered out a response when he got his phone out and threatened to call the professor personally. Bingo. Now he knew where he was, he needed to milk it to get that pass, so going to call Beck once more she was on her feet to stop him and pleaded with him to wait while she took a phone call to her senior. Being the merciful soul he so naturally was, he did. A few baited seconds of waiting and she was suddenly alive once more with apologies and provided him with a temporary pass. 

Too easy really. Maybe charm wasn’t one of the boxes he needed ticked. Pure fear and dread worked just as well.

When the doors pinged open on the floor housing the Professor's office he tipped his chin to the person waiting on the other side and shouldered straight past their wanton gaze. Knocking once, he heard the voices inside come to a levelled hush and after a few seconds of generous patience there was movement. Only then did he release the handle.

He didn't recognise the person. The same couldn't be said for them though, all colour washing from their face when they laid eyes on the looming man in the doorway. 

Bucky smiled, tight, toothless, "May I?" Dropped it and let himself pass without response. 

"Mister B—,”

"Afternoon Professor," Bucky declared to a room he didn't expect to be so, full. 

Beck was stood at the other side of his office where the interactive hologram was stood loud and proud, something most recently minimised as he couldn't imagine he'd hoard a crowd to discuss a blank screen. There were two men by the window, nasty looking fuckers, two parked in the chairs which he and Peter usually occupied in front of his desk— clean looking. No dirt under their fingernails type, no direct red on their ledger. A lady, long wiry features, stood next to Beck. She took off her glasses to inspect the Soldier at length through the purple-blue glaze of the hologram as if he were something foreign. Not forgetting the fragile looking individual who opened the door to him, still holding onto this side of the door handle like it were his life source with a face so white it was almost transparent. Bucky severely doubted he was even breathing. 

"Sorry to turn up unannounced, must feel naked without the death parade outside.” Bucky eyed the mercenary looking fellas who'd stood a little straighter. Their hands twitched in a way Bucky was all too familiar with; they were armed. Clever though, he'd give them that. They stomped down on the impulse to poise to draw just before it became obvious. “Yeah, I just wondered if we could push this forward."

"Forward?" Beck wasn't stupid, he didn't need elaboration. He was buying time. 

“I’m getting a little itchy around the kid and I got some, unforeseen plans."

"Unforeseen." 

He nodded, turned to inspect the men at the desk who couldn’t look tighter if they tried. “Yeah.”

The Professor cleared his throat and Bucky snapped back to him. “Itchy?”

He tensed his jaw, "Am I not speaking clear enough?"

"No, crystal, of course yes. Crystal, Mister Barnes, thing is it's a delicate enough timescale as it is, sort of," He squished the air between his palms like he were moving a Rubix Cube, "already difficult enough to fit in."

"You're earning a lump sum at the end of it, I'm sure you can shave a couple weeks off."

" _I'm afraid_ ," For the first time since they'd met, Bucky caught the top layer of anything close to a temper on the bizarre man. He too, was clever and stomped down on it pretty fast, "F-forgive me, Mister Barnes, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

He shifted his weight from one foot and one of the two suited men near the desk swiped something off the desk, or covered it. Bucky was too slow, only caught the vein throbbing in the man's neck as he looked everywhere but, Bucky. "I'm getting tired of the kid bouncing around Stark's joint spilling my business. Word's getting 'round that he's working on a super secret project and it’s…,” Bucky came to a scuffing stop in front of the two seated men, both appearing seconds away from popping a blood vessel, "well it's pissing me off."

Beck laughed, something about it ringing awfully wrong in his gut. 

"He's just excited. That, snippy enthusiasm was why I chose him to be a a part of this thing in the first place," His gaze darted behind him for the minuscule fragment of a second and something was moved again, Bucky's ears trained to the sound of paper moving, parchment sliding or closing, "you're doing the kid a favour. Probably fulfilling all his little fantasies."

No response came from anyone. All eyes were on Bucky as he shifted again, this time towards the hologram and both armed men were stock still. Well trained. Bucky was the least intimidated and came up alongside and behind the woman, East-side drawl thick, "Do you have any fantasies?"

The professor faltered, cocked his head. "Mister Barnes?"

He felt he were closing in on a nerve. “Quinny.”

“Look, my friend—,”

Bucky slammed his fist against the table top and the woman shrieked. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to confirm what he just heard were the safety locks being removed from a pair of Glocks.

“Not your friend,” He raised a metal finger, “first of three strikes. Second, taking me for a fool.” 

Something had dropped entirely from Quentin. The facade he carried around like an accessory, wore like a mask, had been stripped. “Third?”

Bucky leant in so close the mint on his breath fell over his eyes, making them flutter from the stinging menthol. “I’m trying to help you not make that third by dropping the kid from the project and wrapping this shit up in one week, or I'm out.”


End file.
